The Circle in the Square
by the-black-drop
Summary: For 15-year-old Etta, struggling with school, sexism on the hockey team, her parents being in danger every day, her blossoming sexuality and the general confusion of growing up is hard enough. But when she starts developing abilities she can't explain and learns shocking truths about her family, she begins to question who she really is.
1. Play On

**Chap 1: Play On**

**Hey guys, I'm back! I know it's been ages since I've written, but I thought I'd get back into it. I'm doing part of my thesis research in the US at the moment so I may not have time to upload chapters if I have a lot of work to do, but I'll try to keep it regular. **

**Anyway, enjoy! **

_September 2018: Brookline High School_

The heat was shotgun subtle.

It was the first month back at school – a whole year since they had played street hockey in this kind of weather – and Etta could feel her sweaty palms, slimy against the insides of her gloves. Breathing hard, she prayed she wouldn't lose control of her stick and let the ball slide away as she carried it up towards the goal, dodging players as she went.

"Etta, pass!"

Glancing up quickly, Etta continued to stickhandle, manoeuvring around each oncoming player with agility and grace, and passed it across to Ezra as he called for it. Etta ran ahead towards the net, trying to anticipate the play he was trying to set up. Mapping the other players around her, she found that Joel and Ethan were setting themselves up too, trying to outrun the defenders at their sides. Connor checked her from the side, knocking her a few steps over into the fence of the basketball court they were playing on, but she was sure to check him back just as hard. Ezra passed to Joel, who passed back again. Etta saw an opening and ran for it.

"Ez!" she called out, tapping her stick on the ground. She saw him look up and flick the ball into the air, sailing it over the defenders between them. She sprinted ahead and raised her hand to let the ball hit her glove, dropping it to her feet. Without hesitation, she stickhandled the ball around two or three oncoming players, using the best of her dekes and agile footwork. She heard a shout from one of her teammates but couldn't place the voice for the pass. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, her breathing louder than just about anything else in that moment.

"ETTA!"

Registering the call, she quickly made eye contact with Joel, taking in his good positioning and making the final judgement to pass to him. Before the defencemen could even react, he'd delivered his best slapshot in a beautiful one-timer, shooting the ball past the doomed goalie into the top right corner of the net.

The team cheered in triumph, with Joel running to Etta and playfully wrapping his arms around her waist, scooping her up. Being the only girl on the school ice hockey team, the guys could all lift her pretty easily. "Joel, put me down!" she laughed, and he set her back down on the ground.

"You're so tiny, I can't help myself," he joked. "I want to carry you around in my pocket."

She shoved him in response as the other players came up to high-five them and Ezra jogged over to her. "Nice deke back there, kid," he told her, grinning ear to ear as he hung an arm around her shoulder, ruffling her hair with his other hand to tease her.

"Ez, stop!" she laughed, shoving his hand away, but leaving his arm where it was. She could feel his bare chest heaving beside her as he they caught their breaths and sat down for a break while the others played on.

Any other girl at her school would swoon at the thought of a bare-chested Ezra Cohen with an arm around their shoulders. He was a swimmer as well as an ice hockey player, and girls often drooled over the sight of his broad chest with just the right amount of muscle. But to Etta, it wasn't anything unusual – she'd been friends with Ezra and the other guys on her school hockey team since they all joined in the 7thgrade. They were practically brothers to her, and her their little sister. Most of them didn't treat her any differently just because she was a girl. While she was usually treated as one of the guys, they were still sometimes protective of her, but at the same time they knew she could hold her own. Anyone could tell that, since she played on a boys' team against guys twice her size.

But when other girls came to watch their boyfriends play street hockey on the basketball courts after school like this, they spent most of their time staring at Etta, her long blond hair making her an immediate standout, gossiping every time one of the guys hugged her after a good play. She'd been threatened by such girls before, having them come up to her after a game absolutely livid, yelling that she had her hands all over their boyfriend and that she'd be sorry if she touched him like that again. Other girls would just glare at her, wondering how guys as like them could ever want to hang out with someone like her. Etta wasn't a loser on the school's social scale, but she certainly wasn't one of those popular girls sauntering through the halls in mini-skirts either. They watched her play in her tank top and shorts, whispering about what a slut she was, letting the guys pick her up and hug her and playfully tackle her, their hands all over her body.

Today was no exception.

"Hey, Rink Rat!"

Etta sighed and closed her eyes, ignoring the girls behind her. Next to her on the bench, Marcus nudged her. "Don't answer to that," he muttered, casting them a disapproving look.

She smiled at him. "I won't."

"Forget about them," he continued, smiling back. "They're just jealous because you're a pretty girl and they're not the ones who get to hang around brutally sexy, sweaty men like myself all day."

She responded with a laugh and a shove. "You're so full of it."

"Hey, Rink Rat! I'm talking to you!"

Etta refused to respond. She turned her attention back to the game, clapping her hands. "One minute left, guys! Pick it up!"

"_Henrietta_…"

The sound of her name came out in a mocking tone, exaggerating the old-fashioned sound of it. As much as she loved "Etta", she despised her full name. God only knows why her parents would call her something like that.

"Jesus, what do you want?" she snapped back at the girls watching the game. The three of them looked completely identical, wearing miniskirts and clinging to the fence of the basketball court, giggling. They'd been in her grade for years but still only called her by her name when pressed.

"Come here for a sec."

Rolling her eyes, Etta set her hockey stick down and jogged over. "Make it quick."

"Ezra, Joel and Ethan – are they single?"

"Ask them yourselves."

"Come on, Etta, help a girl out."

Etta sighed, just wanting to get them off her back. "Ethan's seeing someone. I think Joel is in this weird long-distance thing, but he still fools around. Ez is single."

"What about the black guy?" one asked, gesturing towards the goalie.

Etta crossed her arms. "He has a name."

"Well, I don't know it."

"His name is Jamal. And he's single."

"He's cute," one of them remarked, in a tone that made it seem like she thought she was being daring in saying so, and the other's giggled their approvals.

"Anything else?" Etta sighed.

"No, that's it."

"Brilliant." She jogged back to the game, deliberately not waiting around long enough to hear them whisper their theories about which one of the players she was apparently fucking this week. Then there would be the inevitable follow-up theory of "Maybe she's not with any of them. Maybe she's a dyke." In all actuality, neither theory was true. She wasn't a lesbian, and she definitely wasn't fucking the whole team. At age 15, Etta hadn't even kissed anyone yet.

She shook her head to clear it, picking up her stick to ready herself for the second half. Her side was down 4-2. For now, that was all she would allow to be on her mind.

* * *

When Etta first started playing hockey, she was four, waddling along the ice of a frozen Reiden Lake. A month earlier, she'd managed for the first time to skate without holding her Daddy's hand. She'd spent all day out here, skating laps around the little rink Peter had cleared for her, mesmerised by the way her father could skate so comfortably, handling a puck without even thinking.

As it got darker, he skated backwards around her, pivoting and switching to forward crossovers, spinning a couple of times and playing with the puck, passing it between his feet before shooting easily at the net at the end of the rink. From the lakeshore, Olivia called him a show-off on her way into the house to get warm. Etta clapped her hands, and her father bowed as he skated over to her. "How's your helmet, kiddo?" he asked her, kneeling to check that it was alright.

"Good."

"You warm enough?"

"Yes." She tilted her chin up to let him check her helmet strap, noticing the line of frost forming along the edge of his beanie. "Why don't you wear a helmet, Daddy?"

"Because I'm silly," he admitted, looking annoyed with himself for not setting a better example. "You should always wear your helmet. Make sure those clever little brains of yours stay in your head."

He patted her helmet and stood tall, brushing the frost off his beanie and looking out over the rink, his breath coming out in tunnels of smoke. Etta remembered thinking he looked like a dragon, mighty and strong, with a body that would always be strong enough to carry her and protect her.

He seemed so enormous to her back then.

She tapped his leg to get his attention.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Why can't girls play hockey?"

He turned to her immediately. "What?"

"Why is hockey only for boys?"

"It's not. Whoever told you that is an idiot."

"Eddie told me."

Her father smiled a little, bending down to her again and holding her in his hands. "OK, I shouldn't have called your cousin an idiot – that wasn't nice. But he is wrong. Girls can play anything boys can play. If anybody tries to tell you differently, you train harder, skate faster, play better than anyone else. You prove them all wrong. OK?"

"OK," she replied, not really understanding his meaning.

"Do you still want to learn to play hockey?"

"Yeah – I want to play like you, Daddy. But Mommy says I'm not allowed. It's too dangerous."

"Well, your Mommy and I had another talk about that," he said, skating to the edge of the ice to get something from his bag, "and we decided to get you an early Christmas present."

He presented her with the tiny, wooden hockey stick as if it were made of gold. Her eyes went wide. "Really, Daddy? I can play?"

He grinned, handing it to her. "Yes. But you have to be careful."

"It's pink!" she giggled, swinging it as if she were taking a slapshot. There were glittery shapes on the side too. She couldn't read much yet, but she knew they spelled her name.

"We thought you might like that," Olivia added, smiling as she came back out from the house carrying coffee, gingerly stepping onto the ice to meet them. "It even matches your skates," she laughed, hinting at Etta's pink laces.

"Thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around both of their legs and quickly skating off to play. She was so excited that she tripped a couple of times, scrambling up to keep on skating.

"Be careful!" her mother called after her.

"She's fine," Peter replied.

They watched their daughter play until it got dark, hearing her delighted squeals every time she managed to clumsily push the puck into the net. Olivia leaned her head against his shoulder affectionately, taking his hand. "You better not make me regret letting her do this."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at that. He kissed the top of his wife's head and pulled her close. "Of course you won't. Look how happy she is."

* * *

It amazed Etta how much hockey had changed since she started. Her first Mites team had five girls in it. By Pee-Wees, they were down to two. Since then, it had just been Etta and the boys. When she was 13, the school tried to cut her out of the team, switching it from a mixed division to a male one as the players got older. There was no girls' team. She would be able to play on a regional girls' team outside of school, but it wouldn't be the same – she wouldn't be able to play with her best friends anymore. As soon as she came home in tears to tell her parents, they were on the phone to the Head of Sports yelling something along the lines of "Excuse me - our daughter can't do _what_?"

Etta raised hell on her own too. She started a petition that gathered almost 400 signatures from students at the school. She wrote to newspapers, even to the Bruins. Her coaches vouched for her, and her teammates shockingly agreed to forfeit every game until she was allowed back on the team. She was one of them – part of the family. It certainly didn't hurt that she was one of their top goal-scorers, either.

Needless to say, she'd been allowed to play on the boys' team ever since. This year, they even allowed her to be an extra sub for the varsity team as well. What she lacked in size and brute strength, she made up for in speed, skill and discipline. Players underestimated her and she knew that. Occasionally a burly opponent would use his size to try and bodycheck her into intimidation, but she didn't take that shit from anybody – she delivered as many checks as she got, even if they were less effectual. The defencemen on her team were very protective of her and often started fights with anyone who was deliberately being too aggressive, but they knew she could handle herself. She trained harder than anyone else. She was early to every practice, and was the last to leave. If a coach asked for 10 push-ups, she'd give them 15. Her small size and exceptional skill allowed her to weave through players more easily, at higher speeds. Her teammates always said, "If in doubt, pass to Etta". Once she had the puck, she could dance around anybody.

The game was the same as ever – fun, intense, rough. It had gotten more competitive in recent years, but she loved it with the same awe she'd possessed when she was four. The game hadn't changed. The locker room, however, certainly had.

"Good work today, guys. If we keep up practicing off-ice like this, we'll kill at regionals this year," Mike, their captain, panted, and the others muttered in agreement. He set an ice box full of oranges down in middle of the floor and everyone lunged for them. "Feast, my loyal minions, feast! And a 'Thank you, Captain' is always appreciated."

"Thanks, Captain Mike."

"Yeah, thanks man."

Etta sat on the bench, happily eating her orange and letting the sugar be a sweet relief after a hard game. She could overhear the guys talking about some girls in her class – "_She has great tits. I'd fuck her_", "_I swear she had no gag reflex, it was unbelievable_", "_Dude, you're lying, you could never get with her_" – but she wasn't listening. The locker room had become more and more of an alienating place for her in the last year or so as her teammates started dating. It had started with them asking for advice on how to ask girls out, but now it was all about competing sexual experiences and she had nothing to contribute to that. Not that they ever asked her to, anyway.

Girls often asked her how she could possibly change with the guys. Wasn't she ever scared they would perv on her? Did she ever get a good look at them? And if so…how big? What most people didn't understand was that the "changing" that took place was mostly just taking off hockey pads. If they were playing street hockey in the summer, like today, they would maybe change shirts and that was it. The locker rooms didn't have showers, and the guys weren't pervy – if anything, they avoided looking at her as much as possible. It would be like looking at their sister. At the very most, a guy might see her bra for a split second while she put on a clean shirt, if he even dared to look, but Etta didn't consider that any different to being in a bikini at the beach. Besides, she would happily put up with a little awkwardness rather than miss out on all the _good_ things that happened in the locker room – all the joking, all the food, all the celebration after a win and the encouraging comfort after a loss. She wouldn't give up those experiences with her friends for anything.

Someone nudged her shoulder, sitting beside her. "Hey."

It was Jamal. She smiled. "Hey. You must be sweaty."

"Oh, I am. It's disgusting," he laughed. Being a goalie, he was the only one who had worn near-full gear during the game, in 90 degree heat that was totally out of character for a Boston September. "Why, you want some?" he asked cheekily, reaching out to rub his sweaty hands all over her face and arms.

"Eugh! Stop!" she laughed shoving her away from him.

Settling down, he let her go and stripped his chest pad off. He'd worn nothing underneath, revealing his taut torso; the rich, brown expanse of his skin. He groaned and leaned back against the cool surface of the wall. "God, that's perfect…"

Etta had to fight not to blush.

"Nice work today," he complimented, starting to peel his orange.

"You too. The glove save you made on that rebound shot in the 2nd half – incredible."

"Thanks for saying. Coach has me working on my rebounds lately, but I still have a lot to improve on."

Of all the players on their team, Jamal was the only one who was humble. Even when they played against each other in training, he'd always acknowledge the good shots she made when he failed to save them. He was also one of her only teammates who, to some degree, also knew what it was like to be an outsider. He was the only black kid she knew who played or even liked hockey – it was still very much a "white" sport. He was proud of it, though. His all-time favourite NHL goalie was Malcolm Subban from the Bruins, and he wore that jersey to every pick-up game. The team never made a big deal of it, though opposing players sometimes did. Most of these players weren't actually racist – it was just to rile him up and distract him from making his saves. Weaker guys would be constantly getting into fights over this, but he always showed remarkable restraint and channelled 100% of his focus into his goaltending.

The only exception was in a game last season against Allston High. After a game full of jeers, their centreman had scored against Jamal, then skated past and said, "You should have stuck to basketball, nigger." It was the only time in her life Etta had ever seen Jamal hit someone. The rest of the team quickly turned it into an all-out brawl in his defence, leading to their disqualification. Afterwards, in the locker room, Etta had waited with him until the others went home, then held him as he cried.

"You coming over to Mike's house for pizza later?" he asked her.

"I can't. I have to finish that essay for American History."

"Who's your teacher?"

"Mr Warwick."

"I feel bad for you. People that sinfully boring shouldn't have teaching licenses."

"I know, right?" she laughed.

"It's a shame you can't come tonight. It'd be more fun with you there."

They shared a shy smile. In conversations like this, Etta wondered if Jamal liked her as more than a friend. For a while, she had liked him – they had even come close to kissing that night he was crying in the locker room – but they were both too embarrassed to speak of it again after that, and they had fallen back into the rhythm of being nothing more than teammates.

Also, she had started liking someone else lately…

"Hey Etta," Colin called from across the room as he pulled a new shirt on. "You two want the room to yourselves? I think Jamal wants some help taking off his jock strap."

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to give him a reaction – that was all he wanted and she wasn't about to oblige. Jamal glared at Colin, throwing his orange peel at him. "Asshole."

"Just forget it," she told him.

Colin just laughed. "And Etta, since you're so good at stickhandling, while you're down there -"

"Colin, what the fuck?" Mike cut him off. "You don't speak to your teammate that way. Jesus."

"Yeah, that's not cool, man," the others agreed.

"Whatever," Colin scoffed. "Learn to take a fucking joke."

Jamal exhaled and nudged her again as he started to take off the rest of his goalie pads. "You alright?"

"Yeah. I've heard worse than that, don't worry," she chuckled, finishing the last of her orange. "Anyway, I'm sorry I can't make it tonight, but I'll try to be there next time."

"Cool, cool."

Etta wiped her hands of any orange juice and stood up, turning away from him to peel off her shirt. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jamal go quiet and bashfully avert his gaze. It was these little things that made it obvious to everyone – she wasn't just a kid playing hockey with the boys anymore.

**Please review!**


	2. Max

**Chapter 2: Max**

It was a miracle Etta had even been able to focus. She'd breezed through the math questions in a little over half the time her teacher had allocated, which was actually a slow pace for her. Every lesson, she'd burn through the work early, allowing her to spend the rest of her time sketching in her notebook, drawing up drafts for a graphic novel, writing song lyrics for Ethan's band, discreetly reading a book below her desk, or just staring out the window, daydreaming about not being there. Today, she couldn't think of anything but Max.

Max.

The name was a too-bright light rattling through her brain, a flutter in her stomach, a shake in her hands.

Things had been so simple until this morning. They were very close friends - maybe even best friends. More recently, Etta had started to wonder if they could be more than that. But in the end, it had been Max who crossed the line first.

Guys had asked her out before, even tried to kiss her – but this was different. This was _Max_.

She knew that Max liked her – she'd known for a while now. But somehow hearing it said out loud still managed to shock her into a stammering mess. She'd left without giving any sort of real response. Hell, she'd left without even being able to form real sentences.

Exasperated, she grabbed her sketching pad and started scribbling, letting everything out in her drawing. Her mom called this a Dunham trait. Etta didn't know what she meant to sketch when she first started, but somehow it ended up taking the shape of Max's face. Of course.

_God, I must have looked like a fucking idiot. _

General outline of the face – done. Hair – done. Eyes could wait. She always did the eyes last. They required the most detail.

_Jesus, Etta._

_You can handle getting hit five times a day in hockey, but you're scared of a little date? _

Etta sighed and grabbed her eraser, rubbing out her first draft of the nose. The first of many, surely. She always screwed up noses.

_You just ran without even saying anything. That was rude. Max is probably upset. _

_Stupid, stupid, STUPID. _

"Whatcha drawing?"

"Nothing."

"Let me see."

Knowing he'd make a big deal out of it if she didn't, she passed her sketch pad to Ezra.

"Who's it meant to be?" he whispered, hoping not to attract their teacher's attention.

"My friend Max."

"The Max who plays in Ethan's band?"

"Yeah."

He put on a sorrowful expression. "Imagine walking around with a face like that. Not even having eyes. Your nose being a half-rubbed-out mess. Must be terrible. You'd never leave the house."

She smirked and punched him in the arm. "It's not finished yet."

"Well, so far, the resemblance is uncanny."

"How would you know? You've never even met Max."

He handed back her sketch. "Woman, I'm trying to give you a compliment, jeez."

"Ez, I've asked you a million times not to call me 'woman'."

"Alright, sorry." He seemed defensive, thinking to himself for a moment before softening. "Hey, you alright?"

She shrugged, continuing to draw. "Sure. Why?"

"I dunno. Just seems like you've got teeth this morning."

"I'm fine." She sighed, looking up at him briefly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's OK. But you're lucky to have such a forgiving, understanding gentleman like myself for a friend," he joked, trying to get her to smile. "Guys like me don't grow on trees, you know."

"Henrietta," their teacher called from the front of the class.

"Yes?"

"What was your answer to question nine?"

She didn't even have to look back over her work. She had an insane memory for numbers - another Dunham trait. "X=14, Y=12."

"That's correct. But please stop talking and get back to finishing your work."

"I have finished my work, Mr Gomez," she replied in a bored voice, not even looking up from her sketch. "I finished it 20 minutes ago. Maybe if you gave me something challenging for a change, I wouldn't be talking."

Needless to say, he was unimpressed with her tone. "Well, I'm sure you can find something math-related to do while we wait for the rest of the class. Remember, Etta, not everyone in the world is as clever as you - as hard as that might be to accept. Feel free to move ahead in the textbook to something a little harder."

She gave him a tight smile, reopening her books. "Oh I'll get right on that."

Beside her, Ezra snorted a laugh he was trying to hide.

Being a smartass - that was what her mom called a Bishop trait.

* * *

When she checked her phone after school, the number of text messages didn't surprise her.

_Etta, I'm so sorry about this morning. I feel like a fucking idiot. _

_Look, I shouldn't have asked. It was stupid. Can we just forget about it already?_

_Etta, I'm sorry, OK? _

Most recently:

_Please talk to me. _

If she didn't feel like a total bitch before, she did now. She'd never meant for Max to be so embarrassed. Sighing, she typed a quick reply.

_Max, don't feel bad, OK? It wasn't stupid. It just threw me off guard a bit._

Understatement of the year, Etta. Nice. She shook her head to clear it and continued texting.

_I'm sorry I freaked out. Can I have a couple of days to think about it?_

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_Sure. I mean, of course. Just don't disappear on me. _

She smiled a little.

_I won't. See you at Ethan's on Thursday. _

With that, she shoved the phone deep in her pocket – deep enough she could almost fool herself into forgetting about it – turned on her heels, and started running.

* * *

Running was an activity that never failed to be a release for Etta. She was a lot like her mom that way. It wasn't necessarily about running away from something – just running away for an hour or two until you got it all out of your system and were ready to come home. Etta could punish that pavement all night in situations like this, beating out all of her negativity in every stride, pushing her body until her lungs shredded in her chest. Until breathing hurt more than whatever was going on in her head.

It wasn't until she was halfway there that she realised she had been running towards the lab. Showing no sign of slowing, she bounded through the corridors of Harvard, past classes teaching chemistry she'd already started reading about in her Grandpa's old textbooks, until she reached the basement stairs. Pushing through the double doors, she breathlessly scanned the lab. "Hello? Anyone here?"

"_Moooooo_."

She smiled, dropping her backpack by the door and jogging over to pat the cow. "Hi Gene. How's my big girl, huh?"

The cow leaned into Etta's hands, appreciating the attention. Behind them, the door creaked open. "Etta?"

She turned to find the woman carrying a mop down the stairs. "Hey, Aunt Astrid. Good to see you."

"You too, honey," Astrid replied, setting the mop down. "How was school today?"

Etta groaned. "Boring. As usual."

"Well, just keep sneaking in those advanced textbooks and you'll be alright. You smart cookie," Astrid chuckled, approaching her. "I didn't know you were coming today."

"Sorry, I should have called first."

"It's OK. Just let us know next time so I can make sure everything's cleaned up for when you get here."

Etta nodded, giving her a close-lipped smile. Whenever she came to the lab to study after school, her parents made her call ahead so she didn't walk in on them dissecting a body or something. She was glad for that, too. She could handle blood, even found the idea of autopsies fascinating, but it felt good to know she had parents who cared enough about her to try and protect her innocence.

"If you're looking for your parents, they already left. We just finished a case this morning so it's just been paperwork all day. Except for me. I'm the lucky girl who gets to clean up the lab."

"Do you want some help?"

"No, thank you, sweetie. I'm almost done. Just that last puddle of ketchup then I get to go home."

Etta glanced over to the lower half of the lab, where a small pile of blood - and…other stuff – had overflowed from one of the autopsy tables onto the floor. As much as her parents had tried to shield her from all this, she saw more than they thought she did. When she was little, if she ever accidentally stumbled across things like this in the lab, it was always "ketchup". Of course, she'd known it was blood for quite a few years, but somehow the reference had become an inside joke and stuck. For Astrid, at least. Her parents would be beside themselves with guilt if she ever saw something they thought she was too young to see, but her Aunt had always respected Etta's ability to handle adult things.

Even so, Etta turned her face away. "So you got the bad guys, huh?"

Astrid smiled. "Yeah, we did. Now if we're lucky the universe might actually give us a well-deserved weekend."

Etta shifted on her feet, not quite knowing what to say next. She knew her Aunt was studying her, picking up that she was upset about something. "Well, I should probably get home. I have a lot of homework to do," she said, starting to back away.

"Etta," her Aunt pressed. "What's up? Why did you come down here?"

"It's nothing. I should go."

"Come on, sweetie, I don't bite. Did you want to talk about something? We can discuss it over some Red Vines."

Etta bit her lip as she considered it. A vague memory fluttered into her head- being two or three years old, toddling around the lab, looking for "Weds". Seeing the top of the jar peek over the edge of a too-high table. Reaching, reaching. Jumping. Crying. Two hands, scooping her up by her armpits to bring her to them. Her Grandpa, maybe?

Astrid didn't wait for an answer – just gently hooked a hand around Etta's elbow and led her to her Grandpa's old office, away from the blood and the mooing cow. His room had been relatively untouched since he "left", a mausoleum of his existence. His old television was here, his photos of her Dad, some of his records. Her Mom told her that her Grandpa, at one point, was so scared of the outside world he never left the lab and built his life around this room. But the few shaky memories she had of him, she couldn't reconcile with that idea. The Walter she remembered felt confident to her, a masterful mind with a child-like sensibility. He was always smiling around her. She didn't remember ever seeing him scared.

"Talk to me," Astrid prodded gently as they settled down cross-legged on his bed, a pack of Red Vines between them.

Sighing, Etta, fiddled with her piece of candy, tearing it into smaller pieces she didn't have the appetite to actually eat. "Aunt Astrid…?"

"Hmm?"

"You…" Exhaling, she finally bit the bullet. "Can I ask you something? Without you making a big deal out of it?"

"Sure. Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, it's just… you and Aunt Claire… Well, I…" she trailed off, shaking her head at how stupid she sounded. "Sorry."

"It's OK. Just take your time."

At times like these, she couldn't decide whether she loved or hated the fact that she had an FBI family. While they were completely non-judgemental and compassionate, they also knew how to push her to make her talk, regardless of whether or not she planned to. Etta chewed her lip before finally blurting out, "Did you always know you were gay?"

If Astrid was thrown by the question, it didn't show. "No, not really," she replied honestly. "Well, I think the deepest part of me always knew, but it took a few years for the rest of me to figure it out. It was very confusing for a long time. I think it is for a lot of people."

"Well, how did you know?"

"For me, everything sort of fell into place when I met the right person. I had dated guys once or twice, and I liked them, but it never really felt right. Then I met this girl who blew me away and things just started making sense when I decided not to fight it anymore."

"Was that Aunt Claire?"

"No, the one before her." Astrid smiled wistfully before popping a piece of Red Vine into her mouth. "Even though our relationship ended, I'll always be grateful for everything it taught me. She was the one who helped me embrace who I was. In a way, she got me ready for Claire long before I ever even met her. Weird how life works like that."

Etta smiled, taking a bite. "You guys are really sweet, you know."

"Thank you."

"Did people freak out when you told them?"

"Not really. My family and friends were really supportive. It didn't really change anything. A lot of them weren't even surprised," she chuckled. "Occasionally you still come across someone who has an issue with it, but that's really dying out now."

"Not everywhere. They still haven't legalised gay marriage in a few states."

"The point is, if someone gave me trouble about it, I just had to put it out of my mind – sometimes even cut those people out of my life. You're not worthy of unworthy people's attention, Etta. Remember that."

The girl nodded, repeating the words in her head so she'd remember.

"Etta…" Astrid started, taking her hand. "Are you just curious, or is there a particular reason you're asking?"

She made up her mind then – she _hated_ having an FBI family. Curse them, curse their interrogation skills. All they had to do with give her "the look" sometimes, and that was enough to make her cave. Finally, all the whirlwind thoughts that had rattled through her head all day forced their way out, bringing a sheen of tears to her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to push them back, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. _Don't cry_, she scolded herself. _Don't fucking cry_.

There was a hand stroking her arm. "Etta…? It's OK, sweetie…"

When she finally looked up, her green eyes big and wet, Astrid couldn't help but think she looked just like she did when she was three. When Etta spoke, it came out almost like a whimper. "Don't tell my Mom and Dad, OK?"

"OK. I promise, I won't say anything if you don't want me to," Astrid assured her, shifting to take the confused girl into her arms. "It's alright, sweetie. Come here…"

But Etta shook her head, politely resisting the comfort. _Just like her mother_, Astrid thought.

"Sorry," Etta muttered, wiping her face as if furious with herself. "I feel like such an idiot. I don't cry in front of anybody."

"I won't tell anyone you're a human being. You're secret's safe with me," Astrid tried to joke.

"I just… I'm so confused right now."

"That's OK, sweetie. What are you confused about?"

"It's just… I always thought I was straight, right? I've liked guys before. Just this week I was in the locker room with Jamal, blushing like an idiot about how good he looked without his shirt. But lately, I think I'm starting to like girls too, and I… I don't know what to make of any of it. It's really freaking me out."

"Etta, sexual attraction is really fluid. The whole gay or bi or straight thing is a little ridiculous because it's more like a spectrum than putting yourself in a box. And it can change as you get older or as you meet different people. At one stage in your life you might like guys more than girls, then a few years later you might like girls more than guys. You might like them both pretty equally all the way through your life, or just mostly one or the other. Everyone's different. The whole thing's a mystery, really – don't beat yourself up for not understanding it, OK?"

Etta sniffled, grabbing a tissue to wipe her nose. "OK."

"The point is, no one can tell you whether you're straight or bi or gay or whatever – not even me. How you choose to define your sexuality or whether you choose to define it at all is completely up to you." Astrid tucked a piece of hair behind the girl's ear, using her thumb to brush a tear from her cheek. She remembered being Etta's age, feeling the same confusion. She and Claire didn't have kids of their own, but Etta was almost like as child to them. Watching her grow up, and now start being attracted to people, was as exciting and beautiful as it was terrifying. "Is there any particular reason you're asking me about this now? Is there someone you like?"

"I…I got asked out before school today. By a girl."

"Do you like her?"

At this question, Etta felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach, the heat creeping back to her cheeks. "Yeah," she admitted, almost breathlessly. It was the first time she'd said it out loud, even admitted it to herself. "So much it scares me."

"Well, girls can be pretty scary," Astrid agreed. "So what did you tell her?"

"I said I'd think about it. I kind of freaked out."

"Well, take your time. It's no one else's decision but yours. And you could always talk to your mom and dad about how you're feeling."

At this, Etta visibly baulked, snatching her hand back out of Astrid's grasp. "I-I have to go," she stammered. "My parents will wonder where I am."

Astrid stood with her. "Etta, your parents love you. If you told them, they'd be really supportive, I know it."

"I know. I just need some time to figure it all out for myself. I'm not ready for them to know, OK?" she wept, gathering her things. "Just forget I said anything. You can't tell them. Please, Aunt Astrid, I'm asking you."

"OK, sweetie," Astrid assured her, trying to calm her down. "But if you want to talk about anything else, just call me, OK?"

Etta stopped at the door, suddenly feeling guilty for her panicked outburst. "Thank you," she said softly. "For talking to me."

"Anytime, honey. You gonna be OK getting home? I can give you a ride."

"No, I'd rather run. Thanks Aunt Astrid. I'll see you later, OK?" she blurted out, and before her Aunt could ask her anything else, she was already out the door.

**Reviews are important, people! Leave one behind and I shall reward you with virtual bacon : )**


	3. Home

**Chap 3: Home**

As Etta approached her house, she slowed to a jog, then a walk, waiting for her lungs to feel like her own again, rather than runaway drums. When she finally reached the door, she was greeted by a loud whining sound and scratches coming from the other side. "Shy, stop it!" she heard her mom call from inside.

"It's OK, Shy, I'm here," Etta assured the dog, loving the way he was always so desperate to see her all the time. Sometimes when she left the house, he'd start howling after her like he just saw her head explode. She opened the door and knelt down, allowing him to leap up to her, smothering her in kisses. "Awww, did you miss me? Did you miss me, boy?"

To any other person, Shy might have seemed like a violent attack waiting to happen. For one, he was a pit bull. Then there was the fact that his body bore heavy scarring. He was even missing an ear. But anyone who met him immediately saw past that and was overpowered by his gentle, loving nature. He was Etta's baby. She loved that dog more than just about anything, and she was his entire world.

"Thank God you came home," her mother called from inside. "He's been scratching at that door for over an hour, waiting for your bus. He must have thought you'd left him forever."

"Oh, I'm sorry, boy. It's OK, I'm here now." She gave him a little push, letting him release her so they could go inside. Her parents were sitting on the couch, legs tangled, watching the afternoon news.

Peter took in her sweaty form with a look of concern. "Jesus. What did you do, run here?"

"Actually, yes," she replied breathlessly, brushing some hair from her face and dropping her backpack.

"Honey, it's 90 degrees. Let me get you some water."

"Dad, I'm fine," she tried to say, but he'd already headed to the kitchen.

"Let him," Olivia laughed. "You know how much he loves to dote on us."

Etta nodded, collapsing onto the couch and letting Shy climb up with her, settling gently on her lap. She felt her mother looking her over. Olivia knew how her daughter liked to run to process things when she was upset – she'd gotten that from her. "Everything OK?"

Etta gave her a weak smile. "Yeah. Just had a lot on my mind."

"Anything I need to know about?"

Etta bit her lip for a moment before answering. "Can I talk to you later? Without Dad?"

"Of course. Is it anything serious?"

"No, no. I just want to talk some stuff out, that's all."

"As long as you're OK, baby girl," Olivia replied sincerely, tucking some hair behind the girl's ear and kissing her gently on the forehead.

Peter returned with her water, practically thrusting the glass into her hand. "Drink."

"Thanks, Dad."

"You've got to be careful, kiddo. It's hot out there."

"I know," she replied, guzzling down the glass. "What's for dinner?"

"Paella," Olivia replied. "Astrid brought us some mussels at the lab, so we thought we'd put them to good use."

"Don't worry, kiddo, we'll make a veggie version for you."

"Thanks."

"Although I should point out that that completely destroys the purpose of paella. You really do need the seafood."

"Yeah, but the vegetarian version comes without butchered animals," Etta pointed out.

"Do you want to help us cook, honey?" Olivia asked.

"Sure. Just let me shower and finish my homework."

"7 ok?"

"Perfect," Etta replied, getting up to head upstairs, Shy following her every step.

Etta didn't remember the day she met Shy, although her parents had told her the story a hundred times. It was just before Christmas, when she was five. It had been a hard couple of years for their family. Walter had inexplicably gone missing when she was three, causing Peter to fall into a deep and obsessive depression, Olivia to struggle tirelessly to keep everything together, and Etta to be overwhelmed by the confusion of it all. Her Grandpa was gone, but not dead, and nobody could tell her why. No, he hadn't run away. No, he wasn't kidnapped. Yes, he did still love her. No, it wasn't her fault.

They had only recently begun to truly accept that while Walter wasn't dead, he wasn't coming back. More than that, they were slowly realising that he would have wanted them to move on with their lives and be happy. The idea of getting a dog was never about replacing Walter – as if anything, human or animal, could ever replace Walter. But it was something Peter and Olivia had wanted to do for Etta since she was born, and they had been waiting until she was at a comfortable age to do it. With things just starting to move on in the family, it made sense that a new addition could breathe some life and energy into their home.

Due to the sheer number of animals that were put down each year due to lack of shelter space, it didn't make sense to them to buy a dog from a breeder. Instead they went to the nearest shelter, where animals were arranged according to how urgently they needed to be rescued before they reached a far too literal deadline. Etta had gone in clutching her parents hands. Having so many dogs in one place – some of them very loud and energetic – made her nervous. But as she scanned the room, one particular dog caught her eye.

He'd been trying to hide from her. His enclosure had a little plastic house in it, and he'd darted inside as soon as they'd entered the room. But Etta caught him peeking at her, his eyes just above the ledge of the window. When she saw him, he quickly ducked his head. But within moments he was starting to shyly peek at her again.

She let go of her parents hands and wandered over, pressing her hands against the glass of his compartment. Slowly the dog became more and more daring, finally edging out from the house to approach her. When Peter saw the dog in full, he immediately regretted letting his daughter anywhere near it. The thing looked horrific. Its neck was covered in a ring of scarring, as if it had spent its whole life in chains. Bite marks and scars marred his entire body. His left ear was completely gone, appearing to have been torn off. None of this fazed his daughter though – she sat and waited patiently, continually saying "It's OK. Come here. I'm not scary," until it came to her.

"I see she met Shy," a lady from the shelter said as she approached him and his wife. "He's a sweetheart."

Peter continued to watch his daughter with concern. "How did he get all the scars?"

"Terrible story," the woman almost whispered, having dropped her voice so Etta wouldn't overhear. "We had to rescue him from an abusive owner. The guy used to sell him into amateur dog fights, then torture him if he didn't make enough money. Shy was in terrible shape when we got him – we had to perform surgery to repair some of his injuries, but he's recovered well. When he first came here, he was so afraid of people. It was like he thought everyone was out to hurt him. As he's settled in, he's opened up a lot, but he's still a little shy around strangers. I see he's taken a liking to your daughter, though."

"How long has he been up for adoption?" Olivia asked sympathetically. Peter could feel her soften beside him, and knew she had already fallen in love, just like his daughter.

"Almost a year. I'm afraid we just don't have the space to keep him much longer. We've had so much trouble re-homing him. He's not generally the type of dog people go for when they're looking to get a pet for their kids. Because of the disfigurement."

"We don't mind. He seems like a sweet little guy," Olivia replied.

"Oh he is – very friendly."

Peter crossed his arms, running a hand over his face. "You said he was involved in dog fighting – does he still get aggressive?"

"Not at all. Around strangers and other dogs, he tends to be a little timid, but once he opens up, he's very loving and gentle. The only time I've ever even seen him bark was in defence of another dog. He's very protective."

"But he's a pit bull, right? Aren't they naturally aggressive?"

"That's a common misconception. The thing about pits is that they are naturally loyal. They'll do anything for their masters. Put a dog like that in the hands of an abusive owner, and that's a very bad combination. It's how they are raised that makes them aggressive. If they're raised well, they can be one of the sweetest breeds out there. But if they do come from an abusive past they can definitely be rehabilitated. Shy has not only been through physical rehabilitation for his injuries, but months of behavioural rehabilitation as well – all before he was ever declared fit for adoption. Now he's like any other dog."

"Is he good for kids?" Olivia asked.

"Absolutely. My three year old plays with him all the time, and he's so gentle with her. It can take a little while for him to get used to new people, but he's very affectionate and playful once he does. Also, if you're both working parents, you should know he's not one of those particularly active dogs that needs constant attention – you should take him for walks every day if you can, but he's quite happy to just chill on his own, as long as he has space. He's not a demanding dog, he just needs a lot of love. Let me know if you have any questions."

"Thank you."

Olivia turned back to him once the lady left. "So? What do you think? Etta seems to like him."

"And what do we tell her when she asks about his injuries?"

"The truth."

Peter exhaled. "I'm just concerned it's going to be too much for her. The whole point of us getting a dog was to cheer everyone up and give us something else to think about. I get that this dog is in need and everything, but we're buying for a five year old. Even if he isn't dangerous, we should get a dog with a less depressing history."

"Let her decide what she can handle," Olivia reasoned. "If she's fallen in love with him, it'd only be cruel to make her choose another dog."

Peter nodded solemnly, knowing she was right.

Olivia waved over the employee. "Excuse me. Do you think we could get him out of the box for a while to get to know him a little better?"

"Of course."

Peter narrowed his eyes at his wife. "You really think that's a good idea, with Etta?"

"I'll be right here the whole time, and he'll be on a leash. He's perfectly safe," the shelter lady assured him.

Peter wasn't convinced, but nodded stiffly. "Etta, come here, kiddo," he called.

"I'm playing with the dog, Daddy. Look," she giggled as it licked the glass where her hands were pressed, moving them around so he'd follow.

"Etta, now please."

Frowning at her father's tone, the girl obeyed. When the woman opened Shy's box, he retreated a little, nervous at the new faces. No one could say he wasn't aptly named. "It's OK, Shy," she coaxed him, gently slipping his collar on and allowing him to gingerly step out to meet everyone. "Come. Sit. Good boy. See, he's very well-trained."

"Can I pat him?" Etta asked.

"If it's OK with your parents."

"Let us first, baby," Olivia reasoned, knowing Peter wanted to be extra careful. She stepped forward and gently brushed Shy's head, scratching behind his good ear. The dog ducked away from her at first, but when he realised she wasn't a threat, he mewled appreciatively and licked her hand. Peter soon followed, getting on his knees and running his hands over the dog. He wanted to be between it and his daughter if it ever got aggressive. Instead, the dog did its best to melt him. Once Peter saw past the scars, Shy's sad brown eyes were impossible to turn away from. Within minutes, the whole family was sitting quietly on the floor, patting the dog, his head nestled safely in Etta's lap.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Etta asked.

"He's a boy. His name's Shy," Peter replied.

"What happened to his ear?"

Her parents looked to each other, her mother being the one to tenderly brush a hand through her hair as she explained. "Well, baby girl… Before he came here, his owner was very mean to him."

"They hurt him?"

"Yeah, baby, they did."

Etta's blue-green eyes got big and wet, her bottom lip quivering. When the tears finally fell, she cried quietly, clumsily wiping her face with the back of her hand. "That's sad."

Peter clenched his jaw in worry, casting his wife the _I told you this was a bad idea_ look. "Kiddo, do you want to go look at some of the other dogs? There are some puppies over here."

To his surprise, the little girl shook her head, bending down to give Shy a hug. "He's like us. Something bad happened and now he needs a new friend to cheer him up. I want to be his friend, Daddy."

Her insight made Peter unexpectedly proud. In these last few years, he was really starting to see Etta become her own little person, and he was relieved to see that she had inherited her mother's compassion, rather than the selfishness that had ruled his decision-making for much of his life. The dog responded to her in kind, lifting his head to lick her face and causing Etta to giggle hysterically through her tears. "Look, Daddy, he's giving me kisses!"

"He likes you," Olivia smiled.

"I like him too. Please, please, can he come live at our house?"

When his little girl asked him like that, how could he possibly say no?

Because of the way her parents worked, they had a family rule: they were to eat at least one meal together per day. If one of her parents was out of town, they had to call at least once a day. They had to stay talking, stay connected – no matter what else was going on. For this reason, meals were a big deal in the family. They cooked them together when they had the time, talking and laughing about their days. If it wasn't for this rule, Etta was sure she'd hardly see her parents. She knew that she was loved – she knew that with absolute certainty – but she also understood that, on an objective level, going to work and stopping a terrorist attack was more important than hearing about whether or not she got a good mark on that Spanish test. While it upset her, she'd never blamed them for it. It was just the way it was.

Tonight, they'd managed to get through the whole cooking process, and almost the whole meal, before the phone rang.

Before Olivia even answered, Etta had already stood up and gathered their plates, starting to pack the food into plastic containers so they could finish it at work.

"Etta, I'm sorry, I have to take this -"

"It's fine."

Olivia excused herself to take the call, while Peter got up to give his daughter a hug. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

Etta tried to be tough about it. But something about the way her parents - particularly her Dad - hugged her, always turned her into a little girl again. She softened completely against him, allowing herself to be swallowed up in his strength and the smell of his cologne. Her voice came out small as she tried not to cry. "Just come back, OK?"

"We will. I promise."

But he couldn't promise that. He just couldn't. She squeezed him a little tighter.

When Olivia came back into the room, Peter pulled away and turned to her. "They need both of us?"

Olivia nodded. "It's bad."

"I'll wash up. You guys should hurry," Etta said, handing them the leftovers. "Make sure you eat."

"Yes, your highness," Peter chuckled.

Olivia stepped forward and took the girl's face in her hands, kissing her forehead. "You'll be alright by yourself?" She wasn't just talking about being home alone – Etta was old enough to look after herself – but she knew her daughter was upset about something, even if she didn't say so.

"I'll be fine, Mom. Go save people."

"Come here," Olivia whispered, pulling her close for a hug. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom."

Family rule #2: Never go to work without telling the family you love them. Even if you're having an argument, never walk away without showing some sign of affection. Even if it's 3am and they're sleeping, wake them up. Hug them and tell them how much you care. Every time.

Peter watched his girls hold each other tight, wishing it didn't have to be this way. He knew how genuinely scared Etta was for them sometimes. Even though she was growing up, in some ways, she was still a little girl. When she was younger, she'd cry her heart out in situations like this. Poor Astrid or Walter would have to fight to keep her in their arms as she screamed for her parents. Peter could still hear the way she used to sob if he left for work in the middle of the night. _Please, Daddy, don't go. I love you. I'll be good, I promise. Daddy, come back…_

Etta didn't know much about what her parents did for a living. As a little girl, she'd proudly tell everyone her parents put bad guys in jail. Years later, all she knew was that they worked in a department of the FBI that dealt with counter-terrorism. Her mom was an investigator and her dad was a scientist. They'd done their best to keep her sheltered from it, but she'd seen them come home with bruises they couldn't talk about, stresses they couldn't explain to her. There had even a couple of times when her Aunt Astrid had to tearfully pick her up from school and take her to the hospital to visit one of them when they got hurt. The worst was when both her parents were injured in an explosion when Etta was 12. Her mother had suffered a head wound as she hit the ground. Her father had earned himself burns and cuts as he tried to shield her. Neither were seriously injured, but the event had rattled Etta, making it so she was terrified to be away from them. She suffered from nightmares for weeks.

Unlike most kids, she'd grown up with frequent reminders that her parents weren't invincible. Even at 15, Etta would still find herself unable to sleep sometimes, terrorised by bad dreams or fearful restlessness. If she called and they didn't answer their phone, she'd go into a state of panic. Tonight was no different. Once her parents left, she locked the door behind them and turned on all the lights in the house before curling up on the couch with a blanket, knowing it would be easier to sleep to the sound of the TV.

Shy padded over to her, sensing her mood. Whimpering softly, he nudged her knee a little with his nose in an effort to comfort her. "You miss them too, huh?" she asked him, shifting on the couch to give him room to climb up. He continued to nuzzle her body, even licking her face. "Shy, stop!" she laughed, giggling at the way his fur tickled her skin. It never took much for him to cheer her up. She scratched his belly to thank him. "Who's a good boy, huh? Who's a good boy?" Shy shuddered and let out a groan as he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

Eventually they both settled on the couch watching TV. Etta sighed, scratching behind his one good ear. "Max asked me out before school today," she whispered. His ear twitched a little beneath her hand. "I wanted to ask my mom about it tonight, but she had to work. They _always_ have to work. I don't blame them – I get that their jobs are important and all – but it seems like every time I have to talk to them about something, that's the night they'll be called away. Clearly the universe hates me."

"And with Max…I don't know how to feel about it. Talking to Aunt Astrid today really helped, but it's still been kind of overwhelming…" Realising the way she sounded, she scolded herself. "God, listen to me. I'm sitting here talking to my dog about my pathetic little dramas. It's so…not me. So _girly_. You know, my mom would never be caught dead thinking like this…" she sighed. "I wish I was more like her. She always knows what to do. It's like she knows exactly who she is. Meanwhile, I'm just…confused. Like, all the time."

It felt good to say this out loud, to tell someone. Of course, Shy had no advice to give her, but sensing the weight in her voice, he turned to tuck his head against her shoulder, almost like a hug. It wasn't an answer, but that simple touch made the dilemma feel a hundred times easier to handle, and that was enough for now.

**Please review (just so I know someone's even reading this)**

**Next chapter: Etta tells her parents about Max**


	4. Full Disclosure

**Chapter 4: Full Disclosure**

**Hey guys, hope the story is OK so far. I haven't written in ages so I'm a little rusty. Thanks to those who reviewed, especially ninetythreeone who left a really lovely message : ) Please keep reviewing and let me know if there are ways you'd like to see the story improve**

The smell of bacon woke Etta up before anything else. That must have meant her Dad was home. Probably her mom, too. They were alive, they were safe, they were here. She smiled to herself, keeping her eyes closed as she breathed it in. But before she could appreciate that little slice of morning peace, something wet started wiping repeatedly across her face. Heavy breathing. Dog smell.

She cringed and turned her face away into the pillow. "Mmfuckoff, Shy," she mumbled.

"Language, Etta."

Etta wiped her face and looked at her mother, who was setting down a glass of juice in front of her while Shy happily trotted off on a quest to find bacon. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, baby girl. Were you alright last night?"

Etta nodded, rubbing her eyes.

"Why did you sleep out here?" Olivia asked worriedly as she sat on the edge of the coffee table before Etta. "Were you scared? Honey, you should have called us."

"I wasn't scared, Mom. It's just…quiet when you guys aren't here."

Olivia sighed, nodding as she took her daughter's hand. Etta could see the way guilt wore the lines around her mother's eyes, how fear of failing as a parent pressed her lips together. "Henrietta…" she murmured, looking down briefly as if considering what to say. This made Etta squeeze her hand. Her mother only ever used her full name if she was dead serious about something. "You know how much we love you…that we'd be here every night with you if we could…don't you?"

Etta smiled a little, getting up to give her mom a hug. "Yeah, Mom. I know. It's OK. I get that your jobs are a big deal. I'm not mad or whatever."

"Good," Olivia replied. She kept her daughter close for a moment, grateful for how forgiving she always was, and beneath that, wondering what the hell she ever did to deserve to have such an incredible creature. The odds had been stacked against her, her entire life. How could she possibly be blessed with something so beautiful?

"When did you guys get home?" Etta asked as she sat back on the couch.

"Only about 3," Olivia chuckled wryly.

"Jesus. I don't know how you guys function on that amount of sleep."

"Well, the coffee helps." As if on cue, Olivia lifted the mug in her hands and took a sip. "Dad is in the kitchen making breakfast. I thought you and I could talk while we wait. I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to be with you last night, but I'm here now."

In her morning grogginess, Etta had almost forgotten. But the mention of yesterday, and the memories that rushed in with it, snapped her awake. "Oh."

"You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

"No. You never do." Etta bit her lip, toying with a string that had come loose on one of the cushions.

"So what is it, baby girl? Everything OK?"

_For fuck's sake, Etta, just say it._

_She's not gonna care._

_Get it together. Jesus. _

"Yeah, I'm OK. I just need to tell you about something."

"OK. Shoot."

When Etta finally looked at her mother, something shifted deep in her chest. There was nothing intimidating about Olivia right now. Just total preparedness to accept whatever she was about to hear. Etta's mother always had such openness when they talked like this. No judgement, no fear. As she searched Olivia's face, Etta felt her own nervousness about telling her start to diminish. The anxiety that had been swimming in her gut the day before was being replaced by a hesitant excitement.

She _wanted_ to tell her mother, she realised.

She wanted to tell everyone about Max.

Feeling the tremble in her hands become accompanied with the want of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she chewed her lip a little more before speaking. "Mom…there's this girl I'm friends with. I think…I think I like her. Like, _like_ her."

To her surprise, Olivia's smile came immediately and effortlessly. "Oh yeah? What's her name?"

"Aren't… Aren't you gonna say anything? I expected some kind of reaction."

Olivia just laughed. "Honey, we've known you liked girls as well as boys since you were three. No big surprise."

"But…how?"

"Well, you won't remember this, but you were very popular in pre-school," Olivia chuckled. "You wanted to be everyone's girlfriend. There was this one particular little girl you liked – I don't remember her name now, but you had such a crush on her. You'd follow her everywhere."

"Oh God," Etta groaned, putting her head in her hands.

"Don't be embarrassed, it was cute. And if it makes you feel any better, I think your Aunt Rachel married like for different boys in pre-school. Anyway, this girl decided to get together with one of the pre-school boys instead, so you got mad and pushed her in the sand box. Her parents were furious." Olivia smiled, remembering more of the story as she told it. "Your Dad was pretty proud of you for handling it like a badass, of course, but I was just worried about you feeling hurt. Your Dad and I never really made a big deal out of it. Maybe it'd be a phase, maybe it wouldn't – either way it didn't bother us. It seemed like a phase because you never really talked about liking girls since around that age, but we always agreed we'd be 100% supportive if you ever brought it up again. Why did you think your Dad and I would care?"

"I didn't really. I thought you'd be OK with it, since you didn't mind Aunt Astrid marrying Aunt Claire and everything. It's just been really confusing for me lately. I've only ever really liked guys before, so I didn't know what to make of all this. I was scared to make a statement about myself I couldn't take back. I just needed to sort it all out in my head before I told you."

"OK…as long as we didn't do anything to make you scared to talk to us."

"You didn't," Etta assured her, taking a breath before confessing something else. "I already talked to Aunt Astrid. I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to go behind your back like that. Don't get mad at her for not telling you, I asked her not to. I wasn't ashamed of it, I was just really confused, I was freaking out about what it all meant and I needed to figure it out for myself. And once I did, I wanted to be the one to tell you. Does that make sense?"

"Completely," Olivia replied, brushing a hand through the girl's hair. "Sweetheart, it's fine. You don't owe me or your Dad or anyone else an explanation. You should only tell people things like this when you're absolutely ready – don't put pressure on yourself. I'm sorry this has been so confusing for you. I just don't ever want you to be scared to talk about what you're feeling. If you don't talk to me, that's fine, as long as you get help from somebody who supports you. OK?"

"OK," Etta breathed, relieved that her Mom wasn't hurt.

Wanting to get the serious stuff over with, Olivia smiled again, unable to hide how excited she was for her daughter. All she ever wanted was for Etta to be a normal kid, to have the relatively carefree life that she'd missed out on as a teenager. When her peers had been out chasing boys and having fun, Olivia had been working late shifts at the diners and movie theatres they went out to, saving money for college and for trips to see Rachel whenever they were sent to separate foster homes. Olivia wanted none of that for her daughter. If Etta was going to worry about anything, Olivia would want it to be about crushes rather than money, homework rather than whether she'd be living under the same roof next month.

"So this girl – does she like you back?"

"Yeah. Actually, she wants to go out this weekend. I got kind of upset when she asked, it really freaked me out. But I've thought a lot about it. I want to go out with her, but I'm just really nervous."

"What's making you nervous?"

"Well, apart from the fact that liking girls feels new to me… I'm just still trying to figure out who I am and who I like and everything. I've never done any of this stuff before. I mean, what if I'm bad at it? What if I do something stupid?"

"Etta, it's normal to be nervous. But everyone has to start somewhere. And a first date with someone new is always a little bit scary, even if you've dated other people before."

"But…I don't even know how to kiss," Etta admitted, blushing furiously now. "I won't be good at it."

"Well, nobody's really that good at it when they start. But it comes more naturally than you'd think. And practice makes perfect."

"Mom…what's it like?"

"Kissing?"

"Yeah."

Olivia thought about it. "It's kind of hard to describe. It's such a sensual, intimate thing, being that close and connected to someone. When it's with the right person it can be really fun. Amazing, even. You'll see when you get there. But if you do go out with this girl, don't push yourself into kissing her for the thrill of it. Wait until you're absolutely ready and comfortable. It's way better when you actually care about the person, trust me."

"It's just…I'm kind of scared of screwing up. Guys have tried to kiss me before, but I always get nervous and back away. What if she tries something and I freak out?"

"Does she know you haven't been in a relationship before?"

"Yeah."

"OK, well if she's aware of that, it might help. She'll know to be a little extra patient with you. Are you already good friends with her?"

Etta nodded.

"And you trust her?"

"Yeah."

"Then she'll take it slowly if you ask her to. And I expect the same from you – if there's something she doesn't feel comfortable doing, you can't pressure her. Remember, you don't owe this girl anything. You don't have to do anything on this date you don't want to do. You can leave whenever you want, and if you need me or Dad to pick you up from somewhere, just call. And it might make you feel a bit safer if you pick a really public place for your date, so you're not alone with her until you feel more comfortable."

"OK," Etta breathed, starting to feel a little more prepared.

"Take all the time you need to think about whether or not you want to go out. There's no rush."

"I want to say yes. I just needed to talk it out first, make sure I was doing the right thing. Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, baby girl. Come on, your Dad's making breakfast and he'll kill us both if we don't eat before we go."

"OK, let me just text her to confirm Friday and I'll be right out. And don't tell him, OK? I want to tell him."

"Alright. Hurry up or you'll be late for school."

As her mom kissed her and walked back to the kitchen, Etta breathed a sigh of relief, throwing herself back on the couch and grinning ear to ear. That went so much smoother than she expected. There'd be nothing holding her back now. She was going to do it. She was going to go out with Max. Her hands shook a little as she typed out the text message: _Hey Max. I thought a lot about what you said. I'd love to. Is Friday still OK?_

Within a minute, Max replied, and the two sent a quick back-and-forth confirming plans.

"Come on, kiddo. Food's ready," her Dad called from inside.

"Coming," she called back, stuffing the phone into her pocket and going to the kitchen. The smell of bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, and eggs welcomed her, her Dad putting the last of the food onto the table. She jogged over and gave him a kiss. "Morning, Dad."

"Hey kiddo. Your veggie bacon is on the right."

"Thanks," she replied as they sat down.

"I don't know how you can eat that stuff. It's an affront to the Bishop tradition."

"Well, I can't help it if growing up around Gene convinced me to become a vegetarian. You brought this on yourself," she pointed out, watching as he started eating his bacon. "How's your murdered innocent creature taste, Dad?"

He grinned, teasing her. "Nice and murdery. Just the way I like it. Nom nom nom…"

"Eugh, you're disgusting," she cringed, starting to build a breakfast sandwich out of the vegetarian options on the table.

"I know, I know, I don't have a soul."

Etta's phone buzzed in her pocket and she quickly pulled it out to glance at it.

Peter shook his head. "Etta, no phones at the table unless it's official FBI business, you know that."

"Sorry, sorry." Checking the message, she put it away and smiled at her mom. "Friday's fine."

Olivia smiled back as she buttered her toast. "Good. I'm glad."

Peter looked up. "What's happening Friday?"

"I um…" Etta started, trying not to blush. "I've got a date."

"A date, huh? She cute?"

Etta almost dropped her sandwich, causing Peter to laugh at the expression on her face. "Kiddo, I've known since you were three. It's fine."

"Come on, eat your toast, both of you. We're gonna be late," Olivia reminded them.

"Hold on a second. Etta didn't answer my question."

If Etta wasn't blushing already, she definitely was now. Staring at her food, she started pulling it into smaller pieces, before looking up and giving him a demure smile. "She's really pretty, Dad," she sighed. "Like, out-of-my-league pretty. I've got no idea why she'd want to be with me."

"I'm sure she's thinking the same thing about you," Olivia added.

"I doubt it."

"No, I get what you're saying, kid," Peter replied. "Beautiful women have a way of making you feel completely graceless. So who is this girl anyway? Do we know her?"

Etta shook her head as she swallowed. "Her name's Max. Maxine, really, but she hates it. She plays electric violin in Ethan's band."

"Same grade?" Olivia asked.

"No, she's older."

Peter stopped eating. "How much older? She's not in college or anything, is she?"

"Relax, Dad. Just the grade above me. She's 16. She doesn't go to my school, she goes to St Anthony's."

"I'd like to meet her," he said. It wasn't a question.

Etta looked mortified at the possibility. "I swear to God, if you whip out your FBI creds and give her a scary Dad speech, I will never forgive you."

"I just want to meet the person my daughter is dating. Is that too much to ask?"

"As long as you don't interrogate her."

"Honey, if you were dating a boy, I'd be doing the same thing. I'm only being fair. I know how much you hate gender discrimination," he teased, causing Etta to make a face at him.

"No one's interrogating anybody, baby girl. But I agree, it would be nice if we met her. We just want to be able to put a face to the name. That's all."

Reluctantly, Etta nodded, chewing at her toast. On the one hand, she wanted to share Max with everyone, to show off the girl she'd become so infatuated with. On the other hand, she didn't want her father to embarrass her. But if he promised not to, she could live with that.

"Where are you planning to go on Friday?" Olivia asked, changing the subject.

"The film club at Harvard is screening a bunch of outdoor movies this month on the south lawn. We figured we'd go see one then grab dinner close by – nothing fancy."

"You should go to The Whitehorse," Peter suggested. "Thai food, it's fantastic."

"I think she already had a place in mind, but maybe next time."

"Sounds like a nice night," Olivia added. "What time's the movie?"

"6:30."

"Alright, just make sure you're back by 11."

Peter smirked. "Come on, Liv, I'm sure we can extend the curfew for one night."

"No. She's only 15, I don't want her out too late."

"But it's a date," he whined, almost childishly.

"No, Peter. You spoil her enough as it is. Besides, you're the one who's always going on about how dangerous the subways are for a young girl at night."

"Well, that's true," he admitted. He turned to Etta, shrugging a little. "Sorry, doll, I tried."

"It's OK," she replied as she picked at her food some more. "I doubt I'll be able to last till 11 without completely screwing it up, anyway."

Peter smiled to himself, shaking his head. That girl was too much like her mother sometimes. It astounded him that Etta and Olivia were both smart, compassionate, gutsy, beautiful women, though neither of them could ever see it. But that was what made his job as a husband and father fun – he got to be the one to show them just how incredible they were, how much they meant to him.

"Etta…" he began, still deciding on what to say.

"Hmm?"

He smiled. "Just have fun, kiddo."

* * *

"So what do you really think?"

"What?" Peter glanced away from the road briefly to find his wife looking at him expectantly.

"About Etta dating. You OK with it?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

Olivia chortled. "Come on, Peter. She's at school now, you can be honest. Full disclosure time."

"You know, I can't believe after 20 years of knowing each other you're still pulling the full disclosure card on me."

"Hey, I only do it because it works," she pointed out. "So?"

Peter could feel her eyes on him as he tried to keep his attention on the road, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously around the wheel. Knowing he couldn't escape the gentle prodding of his wife, he exhaled and shook his head. "Honestly? It scares the shit out of me."

"Of course it does," Olivia sympathised. "You're her Dad."

"I hope I handled breakfast well. I was having an inner panic attack."

"You did great. I couldn't tell. You actually seemed really glad for her."

"I am. But that doesn't change the fact that my baby was three years old half an hour ago and suddenly she's dating people. Doesn't it scare you?"

Thinking about it, Olivia shook her head and smiled. "No," she finally answered. "No, if it makes her happy, then I'm happy."

"I'm happy for her too," Peter admitted, parking the car outside the lab. They collected their files and coffees from the car before walking across the lawn. Instinctively, they shuffled their belongings into one arm so they could each hold the other's hand. After 16 years together, it hadn't gotten old. "I just don't want her to get hurt, Liv. This Max better treat her right. Don't think that just because it's not a guy I won't go over to that girl's house and set her straight if I have to. I'll do it."

Laughing at how seriously he was taking this, Olivia brought their linked hands to her lips, kissing the back of his. "Peter, you're her father, not her bodyguard. Let her live a little. It's just a date. Who knows if it'll go anywhere. Besides, do you really think if someone Etta was dating hurt her in some way, she would just take it lying down? She's got way too much Dunham in her for that."

"Hey! She's got some Bishop in her too, don't forget. That's got to count for something."

"My point is," she coaxed, tugging on his hand a little so he'd stop and face her, "she's a good kid. A strong, smart, beautiful kid."

"Mostly because of you."

Olivia shook her head. "Because of us. We're not perfect parents, Peter, but we do our best. I think, for the most part, it's paid off so far. But Etta's really starting to become her own person now. If she's going to start doing these things, we have to be 100% with her."

"I am," he promised, squeezing her hand a little. "I'm always with her. I just want her to be happy, Liv. But what if this girl hurts her terribly?"

"What if she doesn't? What if she actually makes our daughter happier than she's ever been?"

Peter smiled, not altogether happily, as he glanced down at their joined hands. "It's strange. In a way I feel like, as she's growing up and starting to do her own thing, she's needing us less and less. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm scared that, if things go well with this girl and she falls in love, she'll… I don't know… Maybe she'll become a little less ours. It's selfish, but I'm gonna miss being the centre of her world, you know?"

Olivia hadn't thought about it like that. She still didn't, really. But she could see where Peter was coming from. If she was being entirely honest, she found the way he was getting so worked up about this incredibly endearing. After all, she'd never had a father to have aneurisms over her boyfriends when she first started dating. She had no Dad to swallow her up in bear hugs when they eventually hurt her or left. That being said, she'd had no mother to go to for advice, either. Whatever happened with Max, whether it turned into a full relationship or fizzled out after a date or two, Olivia hoped that Etta would know she always had two people at home who loved her more than anyone else ever could.

"You know, Nina told me something once," she murmured gently. "She said that sometimes you have to encourage the quest for happiness in your children, even if it takes them very far away from you."

"Good advice."

"It is," she agreed. "But Peter, Etta _adores_ you. She always has and she always will. No one could ever replace her Dad. And try to remember – it's one date. She's not getting married just yet. Try to relax and let her have fun for now. OK?"

He smiled, appreciating the way she could always put things into perspective for him. He leaned in to give her a quick kiss in thanks before she tugged him along so they could continue to walk towards the lab.

"Besides," Olivia began, a teasing tone to her voice now, "it could always be worse. Etta still likes boys as well. I can't imagine the freak-out you'll have when she starts dating someone who can get her preg-"

"Do not even finish that sentence, Olivia," he warned her.

"Sorry. Bad joke." She gave his hand a final squeeze. "And Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"She'll always be ours."

The sincerity in her voice made his heart swell with a love almost as intense as hurt. This was what kept him together every day. This was the hand that kept him here – in Boston, in this universe – that kept his feet on the ground, time and time again. God only knows where he'd be without his wife. They finally let go of each other's hands as they headed into the lab, setting aside their family life, readying themselves to take on whatever horrors dared to challenge them that day.

**Please review, guys! I appreciate everything you have to say**

**Next chapter: the date : )**


	5. The Date (Part 1)

**Chapter 5: The Date (Part 1)**

"You're gonna hate me for this."

Peter glanced up from the newspaper he was reading, taking in his wife's regretful expression as she leaned against the doorway, running a hand through her hair. "Broyles called?"

She nodded, lifting the first two fingers of her right hand to rub them against her bottom lip, the way she always did when she was nervous. "There's a missing boy."

"Well, I know how much you love those cases," Peter sighed. "How old?"

"Five."

"Jesus." He took off his reading glasses – his 40's hadn't been kind to his sight – and rubbed his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. "Do you need me there?"

"Not yet. I know you want to be here to meet Max tonight."

"I can come with you. Etta will understand."

"No," Olivia murmured, coming over to stand behind him, reaching around the back of his chair to hug him and rest her chin against his shoulder. "No, someone should be here for her tonight."

Peter nodded, reaching to finger his way through her hair in thanks. He knew how much she wanted to stay and support her daughter, how much the guilt of missing out on things like this ate at her every time she was called away. "So this boy – why is it a Fringe case? Do his parents work for the government or something?"

"Broyles didn't say. I'm assuming there's some kind of unusual aspect to his disappearance. His mother went into shock so she's at Boston General. Broyles is meeting me there to brief me before I interview her. Once I get a better idea of what happened, I'll call and let you know if we need you at the scene to help with evidence collection."

"Sounds good."

Olivia sighed, holding him incrementally closer, barely enough for him to notice. But everything about Olivia was written in subtlety, and after 15 years of marriage, he knew all too well that it was her greatest hurts that she expressed the most quietly.

"Liv…" he whispered, "She'll understand."

He felt her exhale against his shoulder. "I hope so," she answered, letting go of him as she began to leave the room. "I just hate putting her in positions where she has to."

* * *

Etta looked stupid. No, she looked OK. No, stupid. Those earrings were too much. The necklace, too. Was she supposed to wear make-up? God, she never wore make-up. She rummaged through the pile of junk on the top shelf of her wardrobe until found an old make-up kit her Aunt Rachel had given her for Christmas last year. The plastic wrapping on the box was still perfectly intact, but she shredded it off with trembling fingers. As soon as she opened it up, she realised it was a lost cause. The array of colours and brushes overwhelmed her. She didn't even know how to put most of this stuff on. And what the hell was the difference between foundation and concealer, anyway?

Slamming it shut, she reached for her phone and dialled the only girl she'd ever dare to speak to about these things. As soon as the line opened, she didn't even wait for a greeting before blurting out, "El, I'm freaking out."

The male voice on the other end laughed. "Woah, everything OK?"

"Sorry, Mark, I didn't know it was you. Is Ella there?"

"You know, it breaks my heart that you never call to speak to me. I thought we were friends."

Etta couldn't help but smile a little at his tone. "We are. But I have some serious female discussion to undertake with your girlfriend. I didn't think you'd be interested, but you're welcome to participate."

"Ah," he replied. "You're right, I don't want anything to do with that. Thank you for sparing me."

"Anytime, Mark."

"Just a sec, I'll put her on." As she waited, Etta heard him say to her cousin, '_It's Etta, sounds like she's freaking out_', before Ella finally came to the phone.

"Hey babe, what's up?"

Etta groaned inwardly and braced her forehead against her hand. "El, my date is in half an hour and I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Woah, relax, honey. One thing at a time. You're going to some outdoor movie thing, right?"

"Yeah."

"Have you packed everything? A picnic blanket and stuff?"

"Got it."

"Awesome. So what are you doing right now?"

"Trying to get dressed."

"Well, my best advice is to wear something you're comfortable in. You could be wearing the sexiest dress on the planet but if you're squirming in it all night, it won't do you any good. You're not going anywhere fancy. Just wear an outfit you'd normally wear and accessorise it."

"Ummm…?"

"Never mind. What have you decided on so far?"

Etta looked over herself. "Black jeans – skinny but not too skinny – black boots and that top I wore to your birthday."

"Remind me."

"I dunno, it's grey. Really short sleeves. Kind of off the shoulder on one side."

"Oh I remember now, that was cute. Just make sure the bra matches."

Etta blushed. "El, I don't think we're going to get that far."

"Relax, babe, it's just in case the strap shows."

"Well, I kind of only have black and beige," she muttered, looking over what was left in her drawer after she took out all the sports bras she wore for hockey.

"Oh honey, I need to take you shopping."

"I hate shopping. And right now I don't have time."

"Black, black. It'll go with your jeans. You packed a sweater or something if it gets cold?"

"My black vinyl jacket and grey scarf."

"That's a lot of black and grey, hun. You're definitely your mother's daughter. But luckily you both wear it well. That all sounds good, so what's the problem?"

"Is this enough?" Etta asked as she put the phone on speaker, setting it down on her bedside table so she could quickly change her bra. "Am I supposed to wear heaps of jewellery and make-up and stuff? Or do something with my hair? I'm just wearing it down."

"I love your hair down. And would you feel comfortable if you wore all that?"

"No."

"Then don't do it. Do I really need to give you a "Just be yourself" speech here?"

"Please don't," she groaned as she slipped her top back on.

Ella laughed. "Hun, I'm picturing you in my head right now and you look awesome."

"Why, thank you."

"I know it's easier said than done, but try not to put pressure on yourself. Just treat it like going out with a friend. Because that's basically all you're doing, you're just trying to get to know her a little better. Deep breaths, OK? You're gonna kill it."

"Thanks."

"Look, hun, I've got to run, Mark and I are just on our way out. But have a really good time tonight. And tell me about it after, OK?"

"I will. Thanks, El."

"Anytime, babe."

Just as Etta hung up, there was a knock on her door. "Come in," she replied.

It was her Mom. Although she seemed tired and nervous, her face lit up when she saw her daughter. "Oh, honey, you look beautiful."

Etta blushed, glancing over herself again so as to avoid looking her mother in the eye. "I wasn't sure if it was enough. Or too much. I don't know."

"No, I think you've found a good balance."

"The jewellery isn't too much?" Etta asked, thumbing her small silver hoop earrings and basic silver necklace.

"No, it's perfect. Nice and simple." Olivia came a little closer and tucked some hair behind her ear.

Picking up on her mother's mood, Etta glance down at her feet. "You have to work, don't you?"

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"It's OK," Etta breathed. "How long will you be gone?"

"Probably until early tomorrow morning. Or really late tonight. I'll text you and let you know."

Etta nodded. "Dad too?"

"Not sure yet. I have to go interview someone, then I'll call him in if we need his help on evidence. But he'll definitely be here to meet Max and see you off."

"He's not going to scare her, is he?"

Olivia smiled. "No, honey. I've had a talk to him. He knows if he tries anything embarrassing tonight, he'll have me to answer to. So don't you worry." She pulled her daughter close, pressing a kiss to her hair. Etta was almost as tall as her now. When did she get so big? In that instant, Olivia felt a distinctly painful yearning tug at her- wanting, more than anything, for her daughter to be three again, to be so small she could carry her.

"Have fun tonight, sweetheart," she told her little girl – not so little anymore – as she released her. "If you need anything, call us. I don't care that we're working. Call us and we'll find a way for one of us to come to you. And I will be calling you on the home phone to see how it went, so you better be back in the house by don't try diverting it – I know that trick."

Etta smirked. Her mom was always no-nonsense.

Olivia softened slightly. "How are you feeling? Is there anything you want to ask, or…?"

"No, no. I think I'm OK. I mean, I'm nervous, but I'm excited too."

"Well, go and enjoy yourself. You deserve it." She kissed her daughter's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. Go catch some bad guys."

As her mother smiled sadly and began to make her exit, Etta felt a need to tell her one more thing. "Mom?"

Olivia stopped at the door. "Yeah?"

"I just…" Etta shifted a little on her feet. "I wish you could have met Max. I think you'd really like her."

Olivia smiled, finding it sweet that her daughter was clearly infatuated enough with this girl to want to show her off to people. She remembered feeling the same way when she first brought Peter home at Christmas to meet Rachel (in the new timeline) – that nervous excitement as she wanted her sister to like him, but feared that she wouldn't.

"I will, sweetheart. I promise. Just not tonight."

* * *

At first, the sound of the knock seemed almost as rapt and alarming as a gunshot. Peter heard his daughter cuss in the other room as she scrambled to get the last of her things together. "I'll get it, kiddo," he called to her, hoping to give her a few extra minutes. Smirking, he wondered how many times she'd changed her outfit tonight as he headed down the stairs. His daughter wasn't particularly girly by any stretch, but at 15 she was only just starting to discover her own beauty, and he knew she'd be intimidated by the idea of having to present herself to another person that way. He wondered if this girl she was dating was just as nervous.

When he opened the door, he was a little taken aback by what he saw. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. Perhaps, with a name like Max, he'd subconsciously predicted that she would be slightly boyish. But it seemed she was even more feminine than his daughter.

Etta was right – the girl was gorgeous. Almost fall-out-of-a-magazine gorgeous. She seemed to know it, too.

She'd chosen to wear a short skirt with tights underneath, a fitting top accentuating her slim upper body. Ballet flats on her feet. A shoulder bag wrapped across her chest. The light breeze on the street lifted her hair off her shoulders a little. The top half of it was pulled back in some kind of twisty thing he didn't know the name of, while the rest of it was let down. It was such a dark brown it was almost black. She had delicate, elven facial features. He guessed Irish background. She'd worn make-up, especially around her eyes. The eyeliner as well as her dark hair gave an inescapable glow to the intense bright blue of her eyes. He remembered Etta commenting the other day that Max's eyes reminded her of a Siberian Husky - she hadn't been wrong.

He could see why his daughter fell for her. But in that first glance, he'd already sized her up, and he was worried by what he saw. Even just seeing the way she carried herself, Peter could tell what kind of girl she was. He'd known plenty like her when he was in high school. Girls who came off as over-confident and tough and rebellious, but were actually more lost than most. Girls who acted like they didn't give a shit, but hurt more than anyone could see. Girls who used their beauty and their smile to make everything OK, wearing skirts just short enough to cover their insecurities while leaving everything else exposed. For the taking.

He knew she was judging her too quickly. But she seemed so different from Etta, and it made him wonder how the hell this little romance had occurred. He smiled anyway. "Hi. You must be Maxine."

Dutifully, she shook his hand without correcting him on the name. Someone had taught her to be polite. "Nice to meet you, Mr Bishop."

"Please, Peter's fine. Come in, make yourself at home. Etta's just getting ready."

Max smirked as she stepped inside. "I didn't picture her as the type of girl to spend ages getting dressed."

"Well, she isn't," he admitted, "but between you and me, I think she's a little nervous about tonight."

Her smile softened, as if she was trying to read him. "You're…cool with this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, of course. As long as you're good to her, which I'm sure you will be."

"OK. Good."

"Your parents?" he asked, realising he hadn't thought to ask Etta about this.

She shook her head and glanced away from him. His teenage years and work as a conman had taught him how to read young women in a flash, and there it was – that flicker of embarrassment in her eyes. The pain.

"They don't know," she admitted. "And they'd probably disown me if they did. Hard to believe people like that still exist, huh?"

"I'm so sorry. That's not fair."

She shrugged. "It is what it is." Clearly, she didn't want anyone's pity. The girl had some backbone. But then she smirked a little, her lips curving into a mischievous smile he found both adorable and worrisome. "Besides, Etta's worth the rebellion," she added.

_Oh God, not a rebellious girl. _

He didn't believe in God, but if he did, he'd pray a thousand times that this girl wasn't dating his daughter just for the thrill of it. To use his baby as the knife with which she'd stab her parents in the back.

His second thought was:

_Please, please, don't get my daughter to start smoking. It took me ages to kick that habit in my 20s._

But regardless of these thoughts nudging at the edge of his brain, he tried to be grateful that this girl was taking a risk to make his daughter happy. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"They know I'm hanging out with Etta tonight, but they just think we're friends. Which is true, I guess. I'd appreciate it if you and your wife didn't say anything. Etta and I are trying to keep this quiet for now, at least until we know it's serious. My parents can't know."

"I understand," Peter replied. "Well, can I get you some water or something while you wait?"

She politely declined the offer, instead becoming fascinated by something she saw out of the corner of her eye. "Hey, are these your records?" she asked, hinting at the shelf against the wall.

Peter smiled, finding a part of him tentatively start to warm to her. "Most of them were my father's, but yes."

"It's quite a collection," she praised, her eyes scanning each title as she spoke.

"Etta told me you're really into music."

There was something kind of sad about her smile. "Yeah. It's the one thing that always lets me know I'm gonna be OK, you know?"

"I know the feeling," he replied, finding himself recalling the way how, when Walter was overwhelmed by the pressure of a case, he would fill the lab with echoes of _Figaro_, or let a Coltrane solo lift the floor, a Bowie guitar riff zigzagging through every nook and cranny of his workspace and his mind.

But he pushed the memory back for now. Twelve years after the disappearance, it still hurt to think of Walter.

"I heard you play in a band with one of Etta's friends?" he asked.

"Electric violin."

"That's a pretty badass instrument."

"I like to think so," she chuckled. "I play classical cello and a little guitar as well. And I dance classical and modern ballet. I hope to study at Julliard when I finish high school."

"That's quite a goal," he said with raised eyebrows, admiring the girl's passion.

She shrugged. "I've got to try."

"So you want to perform professionally?"

"Either that, or become a sound mixer for film and stuff. My school lets me use their studio sometimes. I go to a performing arts school, so they've got pretty good equipment down there. I mostly do remixes or record stuff from our band, but I'd like to get into mixing my own original music. Do you play?"

Peter tilted his head to the right. "Yeah, that piano over there is my baby. I dabbled in drums when I was in high school, but that was mostly to impress the girls." He reached up to the top shelf, pulling out the first album and handing it to her. "This was my father's favourite band. If you don't know them, you should."

"_Violet Sedan Chair_? I'll check them out."

"This side of the shelf is all mine," he added, showing her where he kept his music separate from Walter's.

Immediately, she grinned, tapping a record with her index finger. "I love this album."

It was _Amnesiac_ by Radiohead. She was really starting to earn his respect now. "Nice choice. They were my all-time favourite band when I was your age. Back when I was all angsty and disturbed. Them and Nirvana. Favourite song on the album?"

"_You and whose army_. It's got such a great build to it. I love that part when -"

Suddenly, they were bombarded by a woofing, jumping whirlwind as Shy bounded into the room to meet this stranger. He'd come a long way from the frightened abused animal he'd been when they first got him. Max's entire face lit up as she crouched to pat the dog. "Hey, big guy! You must be Shy."

"Etta's told you about him, huh?"

"You kidding? She's obsessed with this dog."

"Well, they've been together forever. We got him from a rescue shelter when she was five. She volunteers over there now."

For the first time in the conversation, Max blushed. "I know," she replied, shyly lifting her eyes to meet his, so he'd see the sincerity in her demure smile. "She's…kind of amazing."

This was it. This was the moment Peter deemed her worthy to date his daughter.

There was just so much honesty in the way she'd said it. He realised then that, despite his initial judgements, this date had never been about the thrill. It had never been about rebelling against her parents. Max was beginning to let her nervousness show now, but he could also see that she looked…excited. Here was someone who seemed genuinely thrilled to have the chance to date his daughter.

Because she saw in his daughter what he saw in her. That Etta was beautiful and bright and deserving.

"Yeah, she is," he agreed, smiling down on her in a way that wordlessly gave her his blessing. "I just wish I'd raised her to have enough manners to be on time for you." He turned his head, calling up the stairs, "Etta, come on, kiddo, don't keep the lady waiting."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she called back, running down the stairs a moment later, carrying a bag of supplies for the night. When she saw Max, she practically stopped dead. It seemed to Peter that the girl had driven her speechless, and rightfully so.

Max seemed the same way, abandoning the dog she'd been so interesting in playing with up until now as she stood to her feet. In the sudden silence, Peter noticed that, for a brief moment, he was the only one in the room who was breathing.

It was Max who spoke first. "Hey."

"Hey." Etta shifted on her feet for a moment, forgetting herself, before adding, "Sorry I took forever."

"It's fine."

"I…I have all the stuff," Etta stammered, hinting at her bag. She'd spent all week thinking about this date, but now that it was happening, she didn't know what to say. God, she felt like an idiot.

Max smiled at her nervousness as if she found it adorable. "Sounds good." Then, glancing at her shifting feet and back up before she spoke, she added, "You…you look really nice."

It took hearing those words to make Etta understand the term "butterflies" – she swore she could feel their sharp awakening in her belly. She was sure that, if she allowed them to fly out of her, there'd be enough of them to blacken the sky.

"So do you," she breathed, unable to keep herself from smiling.

Peter had never seen his daughter smile quite like that.

Sensing that he was intruding, he started to back away. "Well, I'll leave you ladies to it. Have a great time tonight. Etta, be home by 11 or your mom will send out her FBI buddies to start the search for your body."

"I will."

Peter noticed Max chuckle at this and turned to Etta. "She thinks we're exaggerating, how cute. You got everything?"

"Yep."

"Alright." Going to her, he pulled her into a hug, whispering in her ear, "She's lovely. And you look beautiful."

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered into his shoulder. She'd never really needed his verbal approval on this, but it gave her a sense of steadiness, knowing that he was behind her.

It hurt him a little to let her go, but he still managed a smile. "Have fun, girls. Be careful getting the subway back after dark. Call if you need anything."

"We'll be fine, Dad."

"It was great to meet you, Max."

"You too," she replied as he headed up the stairs.

He went back to the study, trying to focus on checking his email for the case notes Broyles would surely have sent him by now. But as much as he tried to give his daughter her privacy, he found himself straining to hear their muffled voices as they chatted and played with Shy. He heard them laugh about something and was glad that the initial awkwardness had apparently been done away with. After a few minutes, there was Shy's tell-tale whining and scratching as Etta closed the front door behind them.

Peter couldn't help it. He peeked out the window to watch the two young girls begin to walk down the street away from him. While it worried him to see his daughter on the verge of something new, all he wanted was for her to be happy. The fear that this would all end in heartbreak made him feel like there was a fist clenching and unclenching in his gut.

But when he saw how, just before they turned the corner, Max's hand brushed up against Etta's, wanting to reach for it but not quite daring to, he couldn't help but smile.

Max was lucky, he thought to himself. Anyone would be lucky to date his daughter.

He just hoped to God that the girl understood that. That they both did.

**Reviews make me write faster! Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing so far. Feedback is always appreciated. **

**More on the date next chapter!**


	6. The Date (Part 2)

**The Date (Part 2):**

**Aahh, this chapter got long! Enjoy, everyone!**

"What have we got?" Olivia asked as she strode into the hospital, seeing Broyles standing tall at the entrance of the Emergency Room.

He handed her a file and motioned for him to follow her through the halls up to an overnight wing. "Theo Costas. Five years old. Reported missing this afternoon. It appears he was kidnapped from his home while his mother was in the house. She went into shock after he was taken – that's why she's here. The doctors were able to sedate her but she's still extremely upset."

"I understand," she replied, mentally preparing herself for the interview she was about to undertake. One mother to another, Olivia knew that witnessing this kind of relatable pain would make her work day extremely harrowing. But it wasn't her place to be upset about it, she told herself. She wasn't the one with a missing child. Her child was safe and happy, going on a date for the very first time.

Her hand subconsciously grazed the phone in her pocket as she felt a sudden urge to call Etta and make sure everything was OK.

"So why aren't Boston P.D. handling it?" she asked instead.

"In her statement to first responders, the mother reported something we've seen before. Flashing lights that caused her to lose time."

"Green, green, green, red," Olivia recalled.

"Exactly."

"That case has been closed for almost 20 years. And we arrested the people responsible. I remember, it was right after Peter and Walter started working with us."

"I know. Other than the lights, this case doesn't appear to be related. But we should explore the possibility that the previous perpetrators may be involved."

"Do you need me to call Peter in? He's not on call tonight, but he's happy to help."

"Not just yet. Forensics are working on the scene now. They should be done in time for Peter to go in the morning and see what else he can gather."

"What do we know about the boy?" Olivia asked as they climbed some stairs. "The victims in the last case were all extremely talented in various fields. Is this boy gifted in the same way?"

"Not that we can tell so far. But you can ask his parents more about that in the interview."

Olivia nodded, remaining silent for the rest of the trip. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Oh God," Max moaned, falling back against the blanket.

"You OK?" Etta laughed as she followed her down to lay beside her.

"Yeah. I think I just found my death row meal. That caramel is unbelievable."

The girls both rolled onto their stomachs, digging into the three-scoop ice cream they had bought at a street cart to share during the movie. The blanket beneath them protected them from the grass as they sat on the side of a hill amid a couple hundred college students, waiting for the film to begin. Etta chuckled, digging her spoon in for another mouthful. "Well, I hope you never end up on death row, but it's nice to know you're thinking ahead. I prefer the chocolate coconut, though."

"It is pretty awesome," Max agreed. "It's OK for you to eat this though, right? I don't want to be the one to make you break your vows of vegetarianism or anything."

"Yeah, milk is fine. I'm not a vegan, so I can have animal products, just not the meat."

"Do you think you'll become one?"

"I don't know. I've only been vegetarian for about six months, so we'll see."

"That's so hardcore. I couldn't do it. I'm no good at giving up vices. If I couldn't have hamburgers, I'd die."

Etta laughed. "You don't die, you just miss meat a lot."

"So why'd you do it?"

She shrugged. "I grew up around animals and just didn't feel like eating them anymore. My Dad has a cow in his lab that I used to play with a lot when I was little. My grandpa used to make shakes for me out of her milk. Her name's Gene. She's a sweetheart."

"A cow? That's random," Max laughed.

"He uses her blood for experiments and stuff. Humans and cows are only separated by a couple of strands of DNA, you know."

Max smirked, admiring the way little facts like that just came out of Etta's mouth sometimes. "I guess those big brains of yours came from him, huh?"

"My mom's smart too. Just in a different way. He's really good with science and she's really good with reading people, with putting things together. You can't slip anything past her – believe me, I've tried."

"What do they do again?"

"They work for the FBI. Mom's a detective and Dad's a scientist. I don't know that much about it, to be honest. They can't really tell me anything."

"Maybe it's a cover," Max joked. "Maybe while you think they're fighting crime, they're actually out robbing banks."

"Or travelling with a circus or something."

"I wonder if kids who grow up with circus parents dream of running away to become accountants."

Etta laughed. "Maybe."

She took a little scoop of the chocolate mint at the bottom of the cup. She'd chosen this flavour in a sudden internal panic when they were at the ice cream stand, wondering if ice cream would make her breath taste bad if Max tried to kiss her tonight. Mint was a safe flavour, right?

"What do your parents do?" she asked Max, trying to keep her mind off the way the skin of their shoulders kept brushing together.

But Max's smile faded as she shook her head slightly, focusing on taking some more ice cream herself. "I don't want to talk about my parents tonight." She hadn't said it defensively, or angrily. It was simply a statement. But Etta couldn't help but think she'd said something deeply hurtful, that she should have just kept her fucking mouth shut or talked about things like ice cream or music or the weather.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, the blush of embarrassment burning bright in her cheeks. "I didn't mean to say anything -"

"It's fine," Mas cut her off. Smiling kindly to silently reassure Etta that she hadn't done anything wrong, she sat up and reached back to offer her hand. Etta couldn't help returning the small smile as she took it, allowing Max to pull her up to sit beside her on the side of the hill. "We got a good spot, I think," Max said, looking out over the campus.

She still hadn't let go of her hand.

All Etta could think about was whether or not Max thought her palms were sweaty. She hadn't thought to wipe them on her jeans first. But Max didn't seem to mind, so Etta let her nervous excitement overwhelm her. She was holding hands with Maxine Kelly. _Maxine Kelly_.

How the hell did that happen?

She glanced up at Max, but, met by that intense Husky blue of her eyes, and the sweet curve of her lips, Etta dropped her gaze just as quickly. _She's so much prettier than me_, she thought to herself. _She could have anyone she wanted. Why is she even here?_

As if reading her mind, Max lifted her other hand to Etta's face, tenderly tucking some loose hair behind her ear. Etta's mother did this for her all the time as a sign of affection, but it had never felt like this. It had never burned her alive. "Don't be shy," Max chuckled, her voice soft and coaxing and sweet like honeysuckle. "You're so beautiful when you blush." She brushed a thumb across Etta's cheek, as if wanting to draw that pink right out of her skin like syrup from a maple tree. Then, before Etta could even perceive what was happening, Max was leaning in, trying to kiss her.

Etta immediately shrank back. She stared, wide-eyed and breathless. Blinked. Blinked again. Her voice abandoned her. She could feel the heat blooming on her cheeks, her heart hammering in every inch of her skin.

But it seemed that Max was even more embarrassed than she was. She retreated just as fast, turning her face away. "Sorry, I -" she stammered, not knowing how to explain herself. She suddenly became aware that they were surrounded by strangers, than anyone could be watching them. She shouldn't have done that so publicly. If someone her parents knew had seen them… She didn't want to think of what would happen. "I didn't mean to… I mean, I did, but… I'm sorry."

"It's OK," Etta replied without thinking. It amazed her that she could even speak. Even so, her voice came out small. She sounded so unlike herself.

"I just…I thought you wanted to. But I shouldn't have assumed -"

"I do," Etta said quickly, suddenly scared that Max was going to get up and walk away. She held Max's hand a little tighter, realising that, despite the awkwardness they were currently experiencing, they'd never actually let go of each other. "I like you. You just…surprised me a bit." Then, using her spare hand to pick bits of grass off the blanket, she added, "I've never done that before."

Max seemed surprised. "Oh. OK."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, of course not. I just didn't realise. I didn't mean to make you nervous. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"I want to," Etta admitted, blushing furiously. She still couldn't bring herself to look up. "We could try again," Etta suggested timidly, feeling strangely embarrassed at asking after feeling that she already disappointed Max once. "Later. Maybe. If you wanted to."

"Not until you're ready." Max shrugged and smiled shyly, ducking her head a little. Etta saw her bite her lip, as if Max had to restrain herself from kissing her, and found the gesture endearingly sexy.

Around them, the lights dimmed.

"The movie's about to start," Max said, shifting on the blanket to lie down on the cushions they'd brought, making space for Etta next to her. Etta was amazed by how so many of Max's comments were written in subtext. Even sentences like "_The movie's about to start._" sounded like "_Come here._"

The movie screen flickered with images as Etta got settled. She found herself focusing more on the way the lights transformed the shade of Max's skin, turning it peach to grey to tan and back again. The space between them hummed. They were just close enough that the hairs on their arms rose to meet each other in the chill as the sky darkened.

"You cold?" Max whispered about five minutes in.

Etta grabbed the spare blanket from her bag and laid it over both of them, unconsciously drifting closer to Max when she lay back down. She felt every place their bodies touched. She felt every place they didn't. Feeling bold, Etta let her pinky graze the back of Max's hand under the blanket. Max returned the gesture, taking Etta's hand in hers and leaning her head against her shoulder as they continued to watch the movie.

Etta let out a shaky breath and held on. Maybe she hadn't completely screwed up this date after all.

* * *

Broyles led Olivia to a private room where a distraught woman was on the edge of a bed, sobbing. A nurse was trying to get her to lay back down. Her husband was on the other side of the room, pacing with his arms locked across his chest. He didn't look at his wife once.

Olivia felt a twist in her gut. These were the cases she and Peter hated the most. It was a cliché to say it, but it was true – everything changed once you had a child of your own.

"Mr and Mrs Costas?" she asked, raising her badge. "My name is Olivia Dunham, I'm with the FBI."

"Have you found Theo?" the woman cried desperately.

"Not yet, ma'am. I'm sorry to bother you at such a painful time, but I need to ask you a few questions."

"I've already told the police everything I know."

"I understand this is difficult but I need you to run me through what happened again. Can you do that for me?"

The woman took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping her face as she slumped back onto the bed. "Theo had an asthma attack at school today, so they let him go home. I left work early to look after him." The thought of that sparked a look of terror across her face as she turned to Broyles. "His inhaler. He needs his inhaler."

"I asked the forensics team to look for it," he replied. "They say it appears that the kidnappers took it with them."

"Oh, thank God."

"What happened next?" Olivia asked gently.

"I got him to bed so he could rest. Later, I heard him calling me from his room. He sounded scared. I thought he was having another attack. I started going towards his room, but when I got to the corridor, I saw a man standing in his doorway."

"Can you describe him?"

She shook her head. "He wore a ski mask. Every part of him was covered in black. And I only saw him for a second. He was holding something in his hand. At first I thought it might have been a weapon, but then it started…flashing these lights."

"What kind of lights?"

"Three green, then one red. Over and over. It was like I just…stood still. Like I blinked and he was gone. Next thing I knew, my husband was grabbing my shoulders, shaking me. He wasn't supposed to be home from work for another hour. We went straight to Theo's room, but he… he was… God, what are we going to tell his sisters?"

She wasn't able to say any more. Her sobs were the only way to express her grief now.

"I apologise for my wife, Agent Dunham."

Olivia looked up to find Mr Costas braced against the window, his back turned to everyone else in the room.

"As you've probably already figured out, everything she's just told you is bullshit," he continued. "I'm sorry she doesn't have something more substantial to tell you."

"It's not bullshit, Alex," his wife cried. "I saw him, he was there."

"Just admit it, Mia!" he roared, turning to face her now, all fury and pain. "Admit that you were supposed to be looking after our son and you fucked up. Now he's gone and we might never get him back. Making up ridiculous stories about flashing lights and men in masks isn't going to make that any better."

"Sir, I understand you're upset, but please try to calm down," Olivia reasoned. "The FBI is investigating this matter because we've actually seen this method used in a number of other abductions. It causes witnesses to experience time slips while the victim is taken. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true."

Olivia saw the man's shoulders slump, his eyes brimming with tears. "These other victims…were they ever found? Were they…" He choked on the words, his hand coming to his mouth to help keep his anguish in his chest, where it was rattling against the cage of his ribs like a drug-addicted prisoner. He turned away again and locked himself against the window. For a moment, Olivia wondered if a part of him, the innermost part, wanted to throw himself out of it.

"I'm afraid I can't discuss too many details," Olivia said carefully, waiting for Broyles to give her the nod to continue, which he did. "But I can tell you that all the other victims were found alive, apparently having been released after a period of time. But your son's case may not be related. We can make no guarantees, except that we will be doing everything possible to have your son returned to you."

She saw the man nod, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. He was crying.

"I can't imagine what you're both going through right now," Olivia continued. "But would it be alright if I asked you a few more questions?"

"Anything," Mia wept. "Anything that will help find our son."

"In this other case, all the victims were taken because they were accomplished in some area. One was a renowned mathematician, another was very musically gifted. Can you think of any reason why Theo would fit that pattern?"

Both parents shook their heads. "No. He's a normal little boy."

"If this isn't related to the other cases, could you think of any reason why someone would take your son? Do you have any enemies in your personal lives, or even professionally? Anyone at all who may want to do this?"

"No. No one. We're good people."

"We'd never do anything to invite this kind of trouble. We love our son. We'd never put him in danger."

"Of course. I understand." Olivia stood, handing them her business card. "If you remember anything else, or you have any questions, please don't hesitate to call me, day or night."

"Thank you."

"Also, would it be possible for me to please have a recent picture of Theo? It's just for our file, but we'll ask your permission first if we need to use it for a public appeal or a press release."

"Of course," Mia replied, pulling out her wallet. Her fingers hesitated, hanging over the picture.

"I'll return it to you as soon as possible. I promise," Olivia assured her.

Tearfully, the woman nodded and handed it to her. "It's his first school picture," she explained. "While they're growing up, you always think about how big they're getting, you know? But now that he's gone… He's so small."

"He looks like a lovely little boy." Olivia took the picture gently in her hands, slipping it inside her file with all the reverence she could muster.

"Do you have children, Agent Dunham?"

It wasn't the first time a witness had asked her this. "Yes. A daughter."

"Then you know how much we need our son back."

"I understand," she said, even though she knew she never could. Losing Etta had always been a very intense fear of hers, peaking for some reason when she was about three, in the months after Walter disappeared - but her child was still with her. Days like these, painful as they were, made her realise just how lucky she was. "We'll do everything we can, Mrs Costas," she promised, hoping with all her heart that she wouldn't fail.

* * *

The café the girls went to in Cambridge was quirky and artistic. The pretty girl behind the counter had blue hair and cherry blossom tattoos up her arms. The walls were lined with graffiti, fairy lights, posters for local indie/punk bands, and little blackboards with scrawled messages like "I like kids, but I can't eat a whole one" and "If you love something, set it free – but don't be surprised if it comes back with herpes". The back wall had a giant blackboard with a bucket of chalk attached and a sign saying "Your fears erased here daily". After they ordered, the girls took a piece of chalk each and made a contribution to the wall. Etta peeked at Max's message – she'd written "That I won't make it into Julliard". Etta's fear seemed silly in comparison. She'd written, "That I'll screw up tonight (if I haven't already)." Max laughed and drew an arrow next to Etta's message, adding "Not possible".

Once they sat down and got talking, Etta was amazed at how easy this all was. Sure, she was nervous as hell, but it felt natural at the same time. She couldn't help but feel that she had won some kind of lottery, to be sitting across from the table from a girl with a wild heart, a musical mind and Siberian Husky eyes.

"I hope my Dad wasn't interrogating you earlier," Etta mentioned in between bites of her veggie burger.

Max laughed. "He totally was. But at least he was being nice about it. Asking me what I want to do after school is a lot better than being asked what my intentions are with his little princess."

"I'm so sorry," Etta groaned. "He can be pretty overprotective sometimes. A lot of the time, actually."

"Then I guess he must really love you."

Etta thought about that. Realising she'd always considered her father's protectiveness to be an annoyance rather than a blessing, she wondered if she'd been looking at it the wrong way. "Don't your parents care who you date?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, they care," Max scoffed, munching on her fries. "Can't have me running off with an ex-con or a musician…or a girl. Anyone other than a boring, rich, white guy, basically. That would be embarrassing for them. My Mom married a boring, rich, white guy so that's what she thinks I should do. Since she and my Dad are so fucking happy together and everything."

Etta didn't know what to say to this. Max never really talked about her family, and until recently, Etta had always assumed they were OK. She knew they were rich, just like every other family that lived in Back Bay, Boston's wealthiest suburb. From what she'd heard, it was a very insular and judgemental community. But this was the first time Max had really opened up about her parents, other than to say that they wouldn't approve of her dating a girl. While Etta was a little confronted by the cold in her voice, she couldn't help but feel grateful that Max was sharing this with her. It felt, in a way, like she had climbed a fence without even knowing it, and was now seeing a part of Max nobody had bothered to go looking for yet.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Etta asked, wanting to shift the subject a little.

This time, the light in Max's eyes completely changed. "A brother. Danny. But he doesn't live with us anymore. He goes to NYU."

"That's cool."

"I miss him a lot," she admitted. "But he calls almost every day. We're really close."

Etta smiled. "I'm glad," she said, and she was. It sounded like Max needed some support at home.

But she wanted to lighten the mood a little further, so she grinned and stole a fry from Max's plate, popping it into her mouth. Max's jaw dropped into a smile as she grabbed a salt packet from the middle of the table, tossing it at Etta, who upped the game by squirting mustard on some of Max's fries, knowing she hated mustard. "Alright, that's it," Max laughed, grabbing a pepper packet and emptying it into the last of Etta's Coke.

"No, no no!" Etta squealed, trying to pull Max's hands away. "You're so evil!"

"Hey, I recall quite a bit of provocation on your part!"

"Sorry, can I get another Coke here, please?" Etta asked the waitress. That was enough to send the two girls into fits of sugary laughter for the rest of the meal.

* * *

One of the things about Etta that was extraordinary to Max was that, for all the girl's beauty, Etta, in her youthful innocence, was completely unaware of it. That's not to say she had poor self-esteem – but she didn't see anything special when she looked in the mirror, either. Years of growing up as one of the guys had taught her that all boys wanted to be her friend before anything else – an idea which, as they all progressed through their teenage years, was becoming less and less true by the day. Mature as Etta was, part of her had not yet developed out of that naïve girlhood stage where she didn't understand the power of her glance, the sway of her smile. The same part of her that always made her genuinely confused whenever a guy expressed that he was interested in taking her out, where she would stare open-mouthed at them with that Bishop crease in her forehead and simply ask "…Why?"

Max, on the other hand, had learned early how to harness the way men looked at her. After her brother left, it was in their attention that she'd found escape.

But Max didn't want to think about that now. Nothing that had happened with anyone in the past mattered anymore, she told herself. She was finally where she wanted to be. With a girl. With _the_ girl.

It was 10:52pm and Max had never watched the time so closely. She only had eight minutes left with Etta. They were already walking back to her house. When she took Etta's hand, she felt it tremble. "Hey," she murmured, tugging a little. "You OK?"

"Yeah," Etta replied, forcing a smile.

But she wasn't OK. She was terrified. Her house was just down the end of the street now, and she wasn't sure what Max would be expecting when they got there. Part of her was scared that she'd try to kiss her again. The rest of her was scared that she wouldn't.

When they got to the house, Etta pulled on Max's hand to stop her. "Here we are."

Max nodded, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She didn't want to go home.

"I had a great time tonight," Etta said, trying to fill the silence.

"So did I," Max replied. "Give me a call, if you decide you want to do this again. No pressure or anything."

Etta made a face at that. Did Max get the impression that she hadn't enjoyed herself, or was she just feeling insecure? "Of course I'll call. I'd love to."

"OK. I mean, great."

"You gonna be OK walking back to the subway station by yourself?"

"I'll be fine."

"Be safe, OK?" Etta squeezed her hand a little in worry. The subways in this city could get dangerous at night, especially for girls their age, when drunk 20-something year old guys were making their way out to go clubbing the city.

"I will. Thank you so much for tonight." Max smiled and let go of her hand, stepping in to hug her.

_Oh God, not a hug._

_She must think I don't want her. _

But Etta held her close anyway, loving the feel of Max's body against hers. Her hair smelled like lemons, her skin like coconut. It wasn't like hugging the guys from hockey. The girl was all soft. Etta found herself lingering there, her nose buried against Max's shoulder. It took a moment for her to realise that Max was lingering too.

When they pulled apart, they never quite let go. They stood a breath's distance away from each other, still attached in some way to the other's body. Max felt Etta's hands on either side of her waist and let her own hands stay on Etta's upper arms, still trying to decide whether to take things further. "I should try and get the next subway," she breathed, glancing between Etta's eyes and lips as their noses came dangerously close to grazing.

Without thinking, Etta gently squeezed Max's hips, then let her hands slide around to the small of her back, keeping her close - and in that instant, Max never thought of going anywhere. Etta realised then that her touch had power. The knowledge of that was an exhilarating thing. If she reached for Max, she would come to her. It was that simple. A chain reaction as true as any physics.

Of course, she was scared of what was obviously coming next. Scared that she would automatically freak out again. Scared that she'd finally welcome the kiss, but be terrible at it. Scared that Max wouldn't like her anymore. The fear swallowed her now, all power and might.

But God, she wanted her. Her whole body trembled from wanting her.

So when Max cupped Etta's cheek in her palm and leaned in, this time, Etta let her. And when they kissed, they were both so caught up in the taste of the other that neither of them noticed how, above them, the street lamp had flickered out and died.

* * *

When Etta finally made her way inside, she was relieved to find that someone was home. Coming back to an empty house would have dulled the glow of a night like this. "Dad?" she called out, knowing her mom was working.

"In here, kiddo," she heard from the back room.

Thank God. That meant he hadn't been at the window watching her kiss Max like a creepy movie dad. She was grateful that he'd tried his best to balance his concern for her with respecting her privacy.

She found him on the couch watching the analysis of the night's hockey game, drinking a beer. "Who won?" she asked.

"Fucking Habs."

She liked that her Dad swore. He never swore at her, of course, but now that she was older, he knew that she was hearing worse at school anyway and never bothered to guard his language around her the way her Mom did.

"Damn it."

"I know. But they're showing a game from the women's league in about 20 minutes if you want to watch it with me."

"You don't have to watch that just for me, Dad."

"I'm not. Those girls are damn good. I feel like a lot of them are even more competitive than the guys."

"They've got more to prove," Etta explained. "They have to fight harder to be taken seriously."

"That's what makes you such an unbeatable player, kiddo," he praised her.

Etta smiled, remembering how watching the women's league had become almost a sacred thing between them. On that trip to Reiden Lake when she first told him she thought only boys could play hockey, Peter had realised realised she believed this because she'd never seen women play. When they watched games on TV together or when he took her to Bruins games, it was always men. So as soon as they'd gotten home, Peter began researching women's teams in the area and started taking her to the women's college games at Harvard. The awe on her face when she saw for the first time that girls could play on the same ice as the boys was something he'd never forget. At the end of each game, she'd insist on waiting at the back door for the players so she could tell them how much she wanted to be like them when she grew up. By the end of the season, every player on the team knew her by name.

"How was the movie?" he asked her.

She grinned, collapsing down on the couch beside him. "I have no idea," she admitted, recalling how distracted she was by Max's skin touching hers under the blanket that she was barely watching it.

He smirked. "That good, huh?"

She groaned in embarrassment, lifting her hand to cover her blushing face.

"Is my daughter _blushing_?"

"Shut up!" she laughed, hitting him playfully on the arm.

"Ow!" He pressed his cold beer to his skin to soothe it. "There you are. I knew my daughter was in there somewhere."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm glad you had a good time, kiddo," he said honestly. "Just don't give me details. You're still four years old to me and I don't need those pictures in my head."

"Sounds fair," Etta grimaced.

"But I will say this – Max is a very lucky lady."

"I'm lucky to have her too." Etta smiled and kissed his cheek, appreciating how sweet he always was to her. "Thank you, Dad."

He looked a little surprised. "For what?"

"For being so supportive about this. I know the idea of me dating is scary for you. And talking to Max about her parents tonight, I remembered how lucky I am to have you on my side. Sometimes I forget not everyone has parents like you guys."

Smiling pensively, he pulled her into a tender embrace and kissed the top of her head. "We just want you to be happy and safe, little one. That's all."

In his arms, Etta had the sudden urge to weep out of gratitude, but she held it back. It had been such a whirlwind of a night, she wasn't about to ruin it now.

"Has Mom called the house yet?" she asked as she pulled away.

"Well, it's 11:03, so it should be any minute now."

They'd settled into watching the hockey experts debate over the game – there'd been a questionable penalty given in the 3rd period which had cost the Sens the game – when the phone rang.

"I'll go get that," Etta said, putting a hand on his shoulder as she got up. She took the phone to another room before she answered it, knowing that there were things she'd tell her mother that her father didn't need to hear about. It wasn't that she trusted her mother more – their relationship was just different and they talked about different things.

"Hello?"

"Hey sweetheart, it's me. How are you?"

"I'm good, how are you? You sound tired," Etta noticed worriedly.

"Yeah, it's just…" Olivia took a breath, trying to decide how much she was able to tell her daughter. "We opened a pretty rough case tonight. It feels really good to hear your voice."

Etta's heart broke a little, knowing that she'd just been out having a good time while her Mom was probably knee-deep in dead bodies by this hour of the night. "It's OK, Mom, I'm here," she comforted her. "I know it's tough, but I bet you're gonna do great on the case."

"Thank you, baby. Look, I haven't got long, so tell me – how was your night? Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," Etta breathed, going upstairs to her bedroom and collapsing onto the bed. She could feel that same bubbly excitement in her belly as she remembered it. "I mean it was awkward sometimes. I was so scared of saying the wrong thing."

"I'm sure you did better than you think. She was probably just as nervous, you know."

"We kissed," she blurted out. She couldn't stop herself. It just felt so good to tell someone. She could still feel the phantom sensations of Max's warm palm against her cheek, her mouth against hers. Licking her lips, she could still taste Max's lip gloss. In a way, saying it out loud convinced her that she hadn't imagined it.

Olivia chuckled a little at the girl's excitement. "And? How was it?"

Etta thought about what to say here.

In all honesty, it hadn't been perfect. It certainly wasn't what she'd been expecting. The way girls at school talked about it and how it was described in books and movies, she'd always pictured it as this incredible, rising-above-the-clouds thing. But it wasn't anything like that. It had been awkward. And short. And maybe it was just Max's lip gloss, but it was wetter than she'd expected.

But Max had been so delicate with her that, even thinking about it now, it gave her chills. She'd known it was Etta's first kiss, so she'd kept it simple. Etta had been beyond grateful for this – she'd been dreading the onslaught of a squirming, wet tongue down her throat all night. Instead, Max had captured Etta's upper lip between hers in a sweet kiss, pulled back to smile against her mouth, then returned for the bottom one. It was only in the 2nd half that Etta had put any real effort into reacting rather than just freezing up completely. Etta had been so scared about not knowing what she was doing that by the time she started liking it, Max had pulled away. But describing it so procedurally would do an injustice to how it had felt.

Somehow, Etta knew that, 10 or 20 or 50 years from now, she wouldn't remember all the clumsy physical details of her first kiss. But she knew she'd remember how _soft_ Max had been, how gentle and patient and kind she was. How she'd held this girl in her hands and, beneath the fear, felt lucky. How, when Max had said goodnight and started to leave, she'd wanted to say "Come back", but found herself speechless.

It was terrifying and strange and beautiful. But she had no idea how to articulate that feeling to another person. So she told her mother the only thing she could.

"Weird," she said. "But I want to do it again."

**Please review! I wrote 6,000 words for you, perhaps you can give me a few back? ; )**


	7. Steps

Chap 7: Steps

"There's nothing here."

Olivia turned to her husband, watching how he examined every inch of Theo Costas' bedroom. "The crime scene guys couldn't find anything," she told him. "These kidnappers were good – they left nothing behind that could identify them. No hairs. The only prints belonged to the family."

"It wouldn't have been hard for them to get him out of here," Peter acknowledged, checking the window. The house was on the first floor, setting the window at an easy height for climbing through. "There's a basic alarm system, so they must have had someone override it when they first came in."

"Even so, Theo's only 5. He would have cried out if a group of men started trying to break into his room."

"He must have been sleeping."

"Maybe at first," Olivia said, going to Theo's bed and picking up a stuffed dinosaur that lay there. When Etta was his age, she had a toy monkey she was obsessed with. She couldn't go to school without worrying that he would be sad being without her all day. Olivia wondered if Theo, wherever he was, was wondering if this dinosaur was missing him. "His mother said he was calling for her and that he sounded scared."

"Where was she standing when she saw the lights?"

Olivia walked out the door and halfway down the corridor before turning back to Peter. "She said she got to about here when she saw the lights. Next thing she knew, the man was gone and her husband was home. They must have had to be watching Theo to know he was home – he was supposed to be at school until he got sick."

"So they stalked the family first," Peter muttered. "But why the lights? Why not use a weapon?"

"Too many ways it could go wrong, maybe? The last thing they needed was an accidental shooting if they didn't want to attract too much attention to themselves."

"The lights definitely got our attention."

"I suppose so," Olivia agreed. "I guess the advantage of the lights is that it stuns the witness. They can't remember anything, but they also can't do anything to challenge you or scream for help. And it's bloodless. For whatever reason they took Theo, they needed him alive."

"OK, so let's say I'm standing here, holding a device that flashes the lights," Peter sounded out as he moved into position, standing in the doorway before his wife. "But I've still got the kid in bed behind me. He's awake by now, and the window's open. Why aren't I scared of him screaming too loud or running away?"

"Mrs Costas called me to say she remembered something else. She heard Theo say "Let me go". The forensics guys found traces of chloroform on his pillow. Maybe there was a second man in the room, trying to keep him still while the first man was flashing the lights."

"So at least two men."

Olivia frowned. "I don't remember it being this way in the last case. In the first timeline at least. There was only one kidnapper – a woman, Joanne Ostler. The lights allowed her to do it all herself. She didn't use a hand held device, but had to rig the lights to other things, like her car. And she never wore a mask."

"That was her mistake – it was a witness' sketch that allowed us to find her. If these guys are connected to that first case, then they're learning."

"The lights seem to be the only connection," Olivia thought out loud. "It's been 20 years – that technology could have gotten into anyone's hands by now. But we have to explore the possibility that there's a link."

"OK, well what about timeline issues? Some of our old cases still occurred here, but they often turned out differently. Maybe there was something that happened in this case that didn't happen in our version."

Olivia scanned through the file Broyles had given her. "Same woman. Her last victim was Ben Stockton, like in our timeline, except we didn't rescue him. He was released, but was left insane, just like the other victims."

Peter shook his head. "Poor kid. He was only like 10, wasn't he?"

"He's almost 30 now. According to this, he lives in an institution in New York State."

"I doubt he remembers much, but it might be worth talking to him. It seems Ostler got whatever she needed from him, because she never kidnapped again."

Olivia continued to read. "Her body was found a week after she released Ben. Bullet to the chest."

"That's odd. In our timeline, she just disappeared. We never found out what happened to her. Maybe this version of Ostler was giving the information she got from Ben - this equation - to somebody else, who killed her to tie off lose ends."

"There's more," Olivia noticed as she read on. "They tied the murder to Mitchell Loeb. He was found guilty of her murder as well as a range of other crimes."

"Well I guess he was the one who needed that info," Peter breathed, the memories slowly screeching back to him as he recalled the 20 year old case. "God, we didn't arrest that guy until after he kidnapped you."

"That never happened to me here – they caught Loeb before he had the chance. They never did that spinal tap, and David Robert Jones didn't try to activate me until after you reappeared, which was a good couple of years after this case."

"It's crazy how much things changed with the timeline."

Olivia flicked her eyes up from her file, giving his an all-too-brief and bittersweet smile. "It just shows how important you are."

He accepted the compliment with a close-lipped smile as he came towards her, brushing a hand over the dinosaur she was holding. "If only this little guy could give us some answers. He must have seen the whole thing."

It was obvious that he was talking so casually in an attempt to keep himself from being overwhelmed. Neither of them needed to say out loud what they were feeling – how being in a room surrounded by toys and picture books and colour reminded them of how easily this could have been their own child. How easily it could happen to anyone's child. It put pressure on them to find Theo even faster, understanding the intense fear his family must be going through.

Olivia couldn't help but notice the way that the weight of this case deepened the lines that stretched from the corners of his eyes to his now-greying hair when he tried to smile, how his shoulders seemed to slump slightly as he rested his hand on Theo's toy. Knowing she was feeling the same burden as him, she placed her hand over the back of his and squeezed, as if to say, "_I know. I know_."

Things had always worked better between them without words.

* * *

Hours later, Astrid and Olivia were pouring over file after file in the lab, trying to find any connection between Theo and the old case, or a reason why Theo's family may have been targeted if it was unrelated. Olivia was on the phone to some of her FBI colleagues, and sighed as she hung up.

"What is it?" Astrid asked.

"Loeb is still in restricted access at the prison because he had knowledge of state secrets at the time of his arrest. I've got a couple of guys in legal working to get us a court order to go and interview him, but it may take some time."

"Well, I can't find anything to suggest why Theo was targeted. He didn't show any of the abilities the other victims had, but his family is pretty unremarkable. There's no link between any of his family members and those of the previous victims, or any of the men in Loeb's old operation. They just seem like an average family. His parents run a small restaurant in the North End. No known enemies, no money problems. I can't think of any reason why they'd choose this kid."

"There's always a chance this was a random attack. But with the planning and technology used, we have to assume that he was selected for a specific reason. The kidnappers must have a particular goal in mind."

They lulled into a silence as they flipped through files, but Olivia felt a tug in her to say something else.

"Listen…" she began, putting down the file she was reading. "I've been meaning to thank you for something."

Astrid looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"Etta told me that she talked to you about Max, before they started going out."

"Olivia," she sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But Etta asked me not to, and I didn't want to betray her confidence."

"No, of course. You did the right thing. Unless it concerns her safety for some reason, you shouldn't pass on anything to me that she asks you to keep to yourself. But I just wanted to say thank you because, as hard as this is for me to admit as a mother, I can't talk to her about everything. There's some stuff I just don't know or have experience with or understand. So I'm so glad she knows she can go to you for support if she doesn't feel comfortable coming to me yet. It makes me feel a lot better knowing that she has someone like you to talk to."

Astrid smiled sweetly and said, "You're very welcome".

Olivia returned the smile. In her opinion, this woman never got the recognition she deserved for everything she did, but had always been generous with her time. She'd been an absolute godsend to their family over the years.

"How was Etta's date, anyway?" Astrid asked.

"It went really well. They've been practically inseparable lately. Etta's completely smitten. A little overwhelmed and nervous, but she's excited about where it's going."

"And what do you think of Max?"

"I haven't met her yet. Peter got to talk to her a bit before their date and said she seems nice enough. He's still a little unsure of her, though."

"Of course. He's a Dad."

"Well, apparently she's coming to Etta's hockey game this weekend so hopefully I'll meet her there. You're more than welcome to join us."

"No, thank you, Claire and I have plans. I didn't know Etta had a game this weekend."

"She subs for the varsity team at her school sometimes. They called her in to play."

"That's exciting. I can't believe she's only 15 and she subs for the varsity boys' team."

"She works very hard," Olivia praised. "She deserves it. It's been so long since we've made it to one of her games, I feel terrible."

"She understands, Olivia."

"I know. She's always been so graceful about it. But it's for me too – it makes me really happy to see her doing something she loves and she's so successful in. It'd be great to see her play."

They heard the door creak open behind them as Peter carried in a couple of pizzas from Regina's. "How's it going, ladies? Make any breakthroughs yet?"

"Not yet," Astrid sighed. "But we were well overdue for a pizza break. Thanks."

"No problem. Nothing like pizza. All the grease and cheese growing Fringe agents need to take on the day," Peter chuckled, starting to devour his first slice.

* * *

"Best idea ever," Max declared as she finished off the last of her Thai food. Etta smirked at the grin on her face, having seen the speed with which she devoured her meal as they both sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor, backs against the couch, while the credits of a movie rolled on the screen before them.

"I thought you ballerinas barely ate."

"That's such a bullshit stereotype. Sure, there are some girls who try really hard to be thin, but I don't know how they do it. It takes so much energy to dance."

"Still, you're so tiny. I didn't think you could eat like that," Etta laughed.

"I couldn't help it. Those noodles were amazing."

"My Dad recommended the place. After 20 years, he still takes my Mom there. He's like, obsessed."

"With your mom, or the Thai food at the Whitehorse?"

Etta smiled. "Both."

"That's really sweet," Max thought out loud, but there was something so sad about the way she said it. Etta thought that maybe she was thinking about the silent train wreck that was her own parents' marriage, and decided to change the subject for the girl's sake.

"We should go."

"Hmm?"

"We should go there for dinner next time – rather than order in."

Max bit her lip a little as she smiled, before saying, "True. But I like coming to your house. We don't have to hide here."

To prove her point, Max darted her eyes down to Etta's lips, capturing them in a quick, cheeky kiss. But Etta closed herself off, gently pressing a palm to the girl's chest to push her away.

"We don't have to hide out there either," she said, her tone measured.

She watched the way Max seemed to shrink. The way her back - always straight in perfect ballerina posture - curved over like a dying tree, and her shoulders slowly turned to face each other. Her hand came up to cover her eyes for a moment before brushing back her hair and letting Etta take her weight, their foreheads pressed together. "You know we do," she whispered.

"But the other night, at Harvard… You tried to kiss me on the lawn. With all those people around."

"That was a mistake."

Etta had never heard something that hurt quite like that. It felt like someone taking her whole chest in their fist, locking their fingers around it, and squeezing tight. She peeled her forehead from Max's, looking away.

There was just…_nothing_…she could say to that.

She was an idiot - such an _idiot_ – for ever believing that Max could possibly like her enough to kiss her in public.

What the hell was she doing here, anyway? This girl who clearly could have anyone she wanted – why was she at her house, on her floor, eating Thai food?

In that instant, so much of Etta believed that she was just a tool in Max's pathetic little teenage dramas. Perhaps she was nothing more than yet another way for her to secretly rebel against her parents and make herself feel tough.

She was a tattoo. A tongue piercing. A late night spent drinking at a party.

An experiment.

That was all.

That was all.

That was all.

But immediately, Max was taking her face in both hands, bringing Etta back to her. "Etta," she breathed. "God, Etta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

She wanted to be angry. She really did. But every part of her wanted not to tear herself away, and instead, to open up Max's arms and climb inside them to hide. Because that was the ridiculous thing about being with Max. When the person you're dating says something that hurts you, you want to talk to your best girl friend about it. But what do you do if your best girl friend and your girlfriend are the same person?

"What did you mean?" she asked instead, forcing herself to look away. She had to keep her pride.

"Etta, I like you. I like you so much. And I love being around you. I love kissing you," she breathed, pressing her lips against the girl's cheek. "And I wish I could hold your hand in a crowded street or kiss you on the subway but I can't. If anyone my parents knew saw me – if we told our friends at school and it got around… I just can't. And that's my fault, I know that. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Etta replied, softening to take her girlfriend in her arms, twisting her fingers into the almost-black hair she loved so much.

"I don't expect you to understand," Max explained against her shoulder. "Your parents have been so supportive in all of this – in everything you do, really. They might not be here a lot, but they make sure you know they love you. My parents…you don't know what they'd do if they found out about this. They can't know. I'm not asking you to pity me, I just want you to understand."

"I do," Etta replied. "I get that we can't really be physical when we go out or whatever. I don't want to cause trouble for you. I just need to know that you're in this because you really like me, not because you're trying to get revenge against your parents or something."

"No. No, of course not. I promise."

Max pulled away to tuck some hair behind Etta's ear, dropping her hand to trace her thumb across the girl's bottom lip. Etta shivered, finding the gesture incredibly intimate. Almost more so than a kiss.

"You want to know why I'm here?" Max asked.

Etta shrugged. "Enlighten me."

"I'm here because you're crazy smart, and brilliant and beautiful. Because you're the only person I know who can kick someone's ass in a hockey game, then go volunteer with abandoned puppies in an animal shelter on the same day. I've never met anyone like you. I've never felt like this when somebody touched me." As she said the words, Max used a single finger to trace over Etta's collarbone, over her shoulder, and back again, awakening a flutter in Etta's belly. "And then there's the fact that you absolutely suck at using chopsticks," she added with a smirk, "which I think is fucking adorable, by the way."

"Shut up," Etta laughed, surprised at how quickly she was smiling again. It startled her, how easily she could almost forget that she had ever been angry.

"I'm here because I want to be," Max continued. "Don't doubt that, OK?"

"OK."

Max looked her in the eye. "Do you believe me?"

"I do," Etta replied, surprising herself. There was so much doubt in her, and yet, she couldn't believe that Max was lying. Not when she looked at her like that.

Wanting to forget it all, Etta's eyes zeroed in on Max's bottom lip, leaning in to take it. It was the first time she'd initiated a kiss, and she prayed she wouldn't miss her mark. Closing her eyes at the last minute, she brushed her lips against Max's, feeling the way the girl seemed to dissolve in her hands. She was still getting used to that – the idea that Max wanted this as much as she did. Etta was slowly becoming accustomed to the way that these shy, simple kisses were almost becoming a second language for them to speak in. They could mean "hello" or "goodbye" or "I care about you" or "I'm sorry".

But when they kissed again, Max swept her tongue across Etta's lip, starling the younger girl. They'd never used tongue before. Etta blushed, pulling away. "Not yet," she whispered, but part of her was almost afraid to say no. Max had never intimidated her – never pushed her for more than she was willing to give – but she worried that this girl was more experienced and would think that being patient with her was boring or too much work.

Instead, Max smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her nose. "No worries."

Feeling a little tired, Etta returned the smile as she shifted to lie back on the floor. Max followed her down, lying on her side, propped up on an elbow. "You OK?"

"Yeah," Etta replied, figuring she may as well be honest with her. "You've just done more of this than me. That's all."

"I've already told you, it doesn't matter."

Etta couldn't decipher the look in her girlfriend's eyes as she looked down upon her, lightly letting her fingers graze over Etta's clavicle yet again. Was it awe? Disbelief? Gratitude? Want?

Did she look at Max like that?

Max's hand settled finally to splay her palm flat against Etta's flat stomach. She bit her lip a little, as if deciding how to express what she was thinking. Finally, she breathed, "I can't believe you've never… You're so…"

Etta felt a little embarrassed by this. "I'm 15, not 30. It's not that unusual that I never kissed anyone before you."

"That's not what I meant," Max chuckled, continuing to draw patterns on Etta's stomach over her shirt. "It's just…You're beautiful. Nobody tried?"

"People tried," Etta admitted. "But I was always too nervous to let them. I guess I never trusted anybody enough."

Max bent her head, pressing a quick kiss against her shoulder. "Thank you."

The touch was so endearing that Etta instantly wanted more of her. She got up on her elbows and cupped a hand around the nape of Max's neck, pulling her down and meeting her halfway for a gentle kiss.

When it was over and Max rested her forehead against Etta's, she sighed. "Etta…can I tell you something? Without you getting upset?"

"OK," Etta replied, not sure whether to be worried for Max or for herself.

"The other night, under the lamp post… That was the first time I've ever kissed anyone sober. Apart from once when I was 12 but that barely counts."

"OK," Etta repeated. She wasn't sure why Max was telling her this.

"Etta, you have to understand," she continued, starting to tear up now. "After my brother left last year, I was a mess. He was the only person at home who ever gave a shit about me. When he went to college, I went through a really bad phase where I was doing some really stupid things -"

"You don't have to explain," Etta cut her off.

"But Etta-"

"It doesn't matter," Etta whispered, still cupping the girl's cheek in her hand, propping herself up on her elbows again to kiss her other cheek, her nose, her lips. "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter. Etta was troubled by this – not only for Max and what she'd gone through, but also, selfishly, for herself. Exactly how much had Max done with other people? Was it just girls, or guys too? Had she ever gone all the way with somebody? How many times? With who?

She realised just how much she didn't know. But Max was trusting her with this information. Even though it did bother her a little bit, she couldn't judge her for it.

_It doesn't matter_, she repeated in her head, more for herself than for the girl who lay beside her with unshed tears adding an extra dimension to the Malamute blue of her eyes.

Etta still cradled the girl's cheek in her palm, internally willing her not to cry. The very thought of that was a startling, frightening thing. She'd never seen Max cry before. She always seemed like the kind of tough-as-nails girl who never shed a tear in her life. She walked into every room like she had been running late that day and left all the fucks she gave at home. Max didn't cry. Surely.

Etta felt a single tear slide onto her nose, and burst.

It was more intimate than any kiss. The moments they'd spent duelling with chopsticks over who got the last spring roll, or tickling on the couch while they decided on a movie, or holding hands in a quiet street, did not compare to this. For the first time, Max had placed an unseen part of herself directly into Etta's hands, powerful and muscular as a snake.

She trusted another human being to carry a glimpse of her own wild darkness.

She trusted _her_.

Etta wanted to see it as a gift and not a burden, but she couldn't help but wonder how many snakes Max was carrying around in her chest.

"I'm different now. I promise," Max wept.

"You don't have to explain," Etta whispered, wiping the girl's tears from her cheeks.

What she meant, shamefully, was, _I don't want to know_.

"What I'm trying to say is," Max continued, "I'm just starting to get things together. I have new friends, I'm putting more effort into school. And I promised myself I'd only get involved with somebody if I actually cared about them. So in a weird way, this is new for me too. I've never been in a real relationship before. I've never cared about anyone like this. I like you so much, Etta. I just… I really want to get this right."

"Max," Etta chuckled, kissing her on the cheek. "You're doing fine."

The girl glanced at her almost in surprise, eyes pink from weeping. "Really?"

"Yeah. I don't care what happened before, OK? I'm just sorry you had to go through that."

The girl nodded, wiping her face out of embarrassment. Neither of them were the type of girls who felt comfortable crying in front of people.

"You OK?" Etta asked, brushing a hand through her hair.

Max nodded, resting her head against Etta's shoulder. The two of them lay together on the carpet for a moment, letting their breaths even out into a synchronised pattern. Etta found herself counting it like a time signature on a sheet of music. She felt the girl snuggle into her and pulled her close, dropping a kiss to the top of Max's head. "Look, we're both new at this," Etta tried to reassure her. "Let's just take it a step at a time."

Max smirked against her shoulder. "And what's the next step tonight, Miss Etta?"

"Ice cream?" Etta suggested.

Grinning, Max took her hand. "I can definitely do ice cream," she laughed, pulling Etta towards the kitchen.

**Please review!**


	8. The Breakaway

**Chap 8: The Breakaway**

**Ah, sorry for another long chapter! It's pretty hockey-heavy. Also, as a female hockey player let me stress that most guys I've played with are absolute gentlemen, but every now and then you get some douchebags like the guys in this chap. Sad but true. **

The rink at Baker Street High was mostly empty when Etta arrived for her game with Brookline's varsity team, except for a few other players who were also just starting to come in. She was a little early and they hadn't opened the change rooms yet, so she sat on one of the benches and texted Max while she waited.

"Hey."

She looked up, finding a couple of players from Baker Street standing over her. "Hey."

"How's it going?" one of them asked. When he smiled, his teeth were perfectly white.

"Um… OK."

"I'm Craig. This is Adam."

"Alright," she answered, still not understanding why they were talking to her.

"So, you here to watch the game?"

"No."

"Oh. It's just that we saw you over here and we thought you must be here to watch your boyfriend or something."

"I'm not." She barely looked up from her phone. Why were these guys even bothering her?

"Huh. So…do you have a boyfriend?"

Her eyes went wide as she realised what they wanted. "What?"

"Are you dating one of the players?" the other repeated for his friend.

"I am one of the players."

The guys laughed. "Nice. I like a girl who's got a sense of humour. What's your name, honey?"

She rolled her eyes, putting her phone back in her pocket. "Etta Dunham-Bishop. I'm filling in for Dave Wyatt on the Brookline team."

"Bullshit. You're joking."

"Nope."

The guys looked gobsmacked. "Look, we're cool with chick players and all, but you have your own teams. Non-contact teams. You can't play with us. We'll crush you."

She shrugged, collecting her things. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the varsity captain, Cole, enter the rink. "Look, I really don't have time for this. See you on the ice." Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she picked up her stick and headed towards Cole.

"Hey Seven," he greeted her. Everyone on her hockey teams called her Seven for the number on her jersey, or simply "H", since "Henrietta" or "Dunham-Bishop" took too long to say. "Those guys bothering you?"

"It's fine."

"Thanks for coming in. Dave's out all month with that knee injury so we really appreciate it."

"Thanks for having me. I need as much experience as I can get if I'm going to get scouted for colleges."

"Hey, if it were up to me, you'd be on this team full time. You're more than good enough, kiddo," he told her as he pulled out his set of keys for the locker rooms, getting them inside.

Within moments, the rest of the players showed up and they all started putting on their gear. Hockey equipment took ages to put on, even if you weren't a goalie. You had the knee pads, jock/jill shorts, socks, garters, pants, skates – and that was just your bottom half. Etta was the only person on either of her teams that wore a cage over her helmet. It was a condition that her school had insisted on if she was going to play on male teams, but even if they hadn't enforced it, she would have worn one anyway. She couldn't understand how her friends could play with just a small plastic visor covering their eyes, leaving the rest of their faces exposed to flying pucks. Every now and then they'd earn a nice big bruise to their face, or a fractured cheekbone. A few of them were missing teeth. Etta wasn't a vain girl, but she liked her face the way it was.

"Alright, team, listen up," their coach boomed as he came in. He was their school's head hockey coach, so he coached Etta's usual junior team as well. He stood tall in the centre of the room, like a tree that doesn't bend. Everyone loved Coach McKinley. He put his entire trust in his players, so if you disappointed him, it felt like you'd let down your own father. "We're playing Baker Street High for the first time this season, and some of you might remember from last year that they're a damn tough team. They don't always play clean hockey. That does not mean, however, that I will accept the same behaviour from you. I want you to keep your focus out there. Beat them where it counts – on the scoreboard. Understood?"

"Yes coach," the players replied.

"Alright. Also, the physio has recommended that Wyatt sit out the rest of the month, so filling in is Etta Dunham-Bishop from the JV team," he said, gesturing to where Etta was sitting on the bench.

The guys clapped for her and a few slapped her on the back or gave her encouraging nudges. She'd trained with them before and they all loved her – even though she was only a sub, they considered her the baby of the team.

"For those of you who are new, Etta trained with us a couple of times last season. I've been coaching her since she started at this school and let me tell you, she may too tiny to bodycheck you into a coma, but she can skate well enough to embarrass the shit out of anyone who underestimates her. I don't want anyone giving her trouble today. But don't give her any special treatment either. She's a hockey player, not a figure skater – anyone who doesn't treat her like one will answer to me. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Seven, I want to put you as the centre on the 2nd line. Sound good?" he asked her.

"Yes, sir," she replied, perhaps a little too excitedly. She'd expected him to shuffle the players around and put her on the wing. Being a centre was a big responsibility – you were in charge of winning as many face-offs as possible for your side throughout the game. Being in the middle of the ice rather than the wings gave you more room so move, so the position was usually reserved for the players who were the most quick and skilled with stickhandling. It also made you a prime target for the opposition's two defensemen. But Etta saw the challenge as an opportunity to prove herself.

She'd heard this other team was rough, and knew that they'd be harsher on her than necessary. But she was prepared to prove them all wrong today. She always did.

* * *

Olivia and Peter took their seats in the stands of the small school rink just as the teams were coming out of the change rooms. The Zamboni guy was still doing his rounds, giving the teams time to wait by the ice. Etta saw them and gave them a quick wave before listening to her captain's final words of encouragement.

"God, how long has it been since we actually made it to one of these?" Peter asked as he munched on his fries.

"Too long," Olivia replied, grimacing at the food he was eating. "Honey, this is why the doctor always complains about your cholesterol -"

"I know, I know. Last time. Then I won't touch greasy food for a week."

She smirked. "Liar." Then her smirk widened into a cheeky grin as she bit her lip. "Can I have one?"

"Oh, Miss Cholesterol Police wants a fry now?"

"Shut up," she laughed, taking one anyway. "It's your fault for putting them in front of me. Besides, the more I eat, the less you eat. I'm postponing your heart attack."

"How charitable of you."

"Hi, Mr Bishop."

They looked up to find Max standing by them in the aisle, apparently looking for a place to sit. "Hey, Max," he replied. "Etta will be so glad you made it. Here, come sit with us."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." He shifted a little to make room for her on the bench. "This is my wife, Olivia."

Maxine smiled nervously and shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs Dunham."

Like Peter, Olivia was a little surprised by Max's looks. It wasn't so much the stunning beauty - the way her blue eyes seemed to burst against her dark hair - but the way she seemed so different from their daughter. Etta had described her as a kind of a walking oxymoron - a feminine ballet dancer who played electric violin in a punk band and read books by Sylvia Plath and Chuck Palahniuk. Olivia could see the mix in her. She looked like she'd just come from a dance class - dressed in tight black clothing and ballet flats, make-up on her face, her hair pinned back in a tight bun. But across her chest hung a shoulder bag covered in band pins, with the word's "Punk's Not Dead" spray-painted on the side. Her right ear held two extra piercings than the left. Her fingernails were black.

"It's lovely to meet you too, Max. Etta's told me so much."

"Only the good things, I hope," Max chuckled as she sat down.

"Would you like some fries?" Olivia asked.

"Yes please," Max replied. Olivia watched as the girl took the smallest fry she could find and shyly popped it in her mouth. She seemed so polite. Olivia didn't know what to make of this, except that it meant Max valued her relationship with Etta enough to worry this much about making a bad impression on her family.

"I'm so nervous," the young girl admitted after she swallowed.

Olivia smiled. "You don't need to be. We're not that scary."

"No, about Etta. I've never really gotten into hockey. My brother loves watching it, but it always seemed so barbaric to me. I mean, I get injured at ballet all the time, but not because someone's trying to knock me into a wall," she explained in an anxious rush of words. "I don't want to see her get hurt."

Olivia immediately loved her. Anyone who worried about her daughter like this, but still found the courage to watch her play a violent sport to support her, was worthy in her eyes.

"She's a tough cookie," Peter shrugged. "And if it's a good clean hit, being checked doesn't hurt that much. The slide of the ice takes most of the impact for you."

"I get nervous watching her too, sometimes," Olivia admitted. "When she was little I didn't want her to start playing. But she begged and begged for months. It made her so happy, in the end I couldn't keep saying no. I figured she'd get bored of it in a few weeks and quit, and now she's subbing for the varsity boys' team."

"She's so brave," Max sighed, and Olivia could hear affectionate praise mixed with the worry in her words.

"Have you ever been to a game before?" Peter asked her.

"Never. I don't even understand the rules."

"It's simple, trust me." Peter grinned and set down his fries, freeing his hands to point to things around the rink as he gave Max a crash-course in hockey. Olivia noticed that the girl seemed genuinely interested, wanting to be a part of the things that made her girlfriend happy.

When the Zamboni finished up, they watched Etta and her teammates take to the ice to warm up. Olivia watched Max's face as Etta moved effortlessly across the ice, practicing her crossovers, her tight turns, her stops, her pivots, her one-foot inside and outside edges. Then she did it all backwards. For someone so small, there was so much power and grace in the way she moved. She had the speed of a seasoned hockey player and the flow of a figure skater. It looked as if she'd been skating before she'd been walking.

"Oh my God," Max breathed.

"What?" Olivia asked.

"Nothing, it's just…I've never seen her skate. She never told me she could move like this."

Peter and Olivia shared a knowing look. It was sweet, to see first-hand how completely taken Max was with their daughter.

Peter chuckled and raised his eyebrows. "Wait till you see her actually play."

* * *

Cole dumped a bucket of pucks on the ice for them to practice with as they warmed up. Etta did her best to focus on taking her shots and getting used to the feel of carrying the puck during her skating drills. Every drill was ten times harder as soon as you added a puck. You had to keep your head up at all times so you could dodge the players in front of you, only watching the puck in your peripheral vision. It was a skill that took years to master.

She tried to will away the slight shake in her hands. Not only was she nervous about her position as a centre forward, but she also knew her parents and girlfriend would be watching her.

Her girlfriend. She was still getting used to that.

_Focus, Etta. _

She waited for her team's goalie to take position before carrying a puck up the ice, practicing her dekes as she shot the puck at the goalie's five-hole. He blocked it with his leg pads, butterfly style. But she wasn't deterred, picking up the puck off the rebound and flicking it upward, sending it clanging against the top bar of the net and down behind the goalie.

Getting back to his feet, he fist-bumped her. "Bar-down! Good shot, kiddo."

"You too, Joe. Nice block on the first shot. Keep it up," she replied as she skated away. Their coach was really big on his players encouraging each other at all times. It was one of the reasons Etta wouldn't play for any other teams.

As she skated back to the red half-way line to pick up another puck, she found a few guys from the Baker Street team waiting for her. One of the guys who'd talked to her before grinned. "Impressive. I like a girl who's good with her hands."

"Fuck off," she replied, grabbing a puck and practicing stickhandling around her body while she waited for her goalie to be free again.

The guys laughed. "Oh, she's got a mouth on her too."

"Come over to our locker room later, honey, we'll teach you how to use it."

_Keep your focus, Etta_, she told herself, forcing herself not to react but to just concentrate on the puck she was pulling between her feet. What else could she do, anyway? She wasn't a fighter. She didn't consider it clean hockey. Besides, it's not like she could take them in a fight if she tried. These were 18-year-olds she was playing against now, easily double her size.

But her captain, Cole, had already decided to fight for her. "Hey!" he shouted, shoving one of them hard in the chest. "Talk to one of my players like that again and I'll check you so hard you'll be eating out of a straw for the rest of your miserable fucking life. Got it?"

"Cole, stop!" she insisted, pulling on his arm. "They're not worth it. Let it go."

Cole was not only the captain but the team's "enforcer". Enforcers were not an official position - more of a nickname title for those players whose job it was to have everyone's back. He kept the other team in line. If they fucked with one of his players, he was gonna fuck with them. That simple. For this reason, Cole got into fights a lot – something which was fairly restricted in the high school leagues. He was a great player, with easily the most powerful slapshot Etta had ever seen from a teammate, and she didn't want him to get suspended fighting over her.

The ref blew his whistle and they all gathered the pucks to get them off the ice. The game was about to start, and Etta knew it was going to be a rough one.

* * *

Peter tensed as the first line of players took to the ice. But it wasn't the lead up to the puck-drop that had changed his mood – it was what he was hearing. Etta was waiting with the rest of her teammates in the player box, the other team in the box next to them. Every now and then, Peter would hear one of them call out to her: "You lost, honey? Figure skating club isn't till tomorrow", "Hey Blondie, if you want to practice your stickhandling with us, all you have to do is ask. Come to the showers after, I'll give you a private lesson."

Not the easiest things for a father of a fifteen-year-old girl to hear. All he wanted was to charge down to those players and set them straight.

Olivia seemed to read his mind, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Let her handle it," she told him.

"Are you listening to this?"

"She's tougher than she looks. She can take it."

Peter locked his jaw and turned his attention back to the ice. If the harassment was bothering Etta, she didn't show it. She won her first three face-offs in a row, and by the end of the first period, she'd already made an assist. When they came off the ice for the first intermission, he noticed a bunch of her teammates slap her on the back in encouragement.

Beside him, Max was astounded. As much as she was worried, visibly wincing every time Etta had been hit, she'd cheered louder than anyone else when she did something well. Peter internally gave props to the young girl – she was handling this better than he was.

* * *

It was midway through the second period when Etta scored a goal.

She'd intercepted a bad pass at centre ice, catching herself on a breakaway as she carried it up towards the net. She hadn't seen the crowd stand to their feet, but she heard the roar increase every time she dodged the defensemen that struggled to catch up to her. But she was just too fast, and soon enough it was just her and the goalie. She deked once, twice, flicked the puck off the backhand side of her blade into the top-right corner of the net.

The guys scooped her up immediately, hoisting her onto their shoulders. This was why she played hockey – the fun, the challenge, the camaraderie. There was no better feeling in the world. At least, that's what she thought, until she saw her parents and her girlfriend on their feet, cheering for her from the crowd.

_That_ was the best feeling in the world.

But when she was lifted back down to the ice, she couldn't help but notice the way the Baker Street players glared at her, fists clenched around their sticks.

She'd just proven herself to be a dangerous player, she realised.

She'd just made herself even more of a target.

* * *

The third period was one of the toughest she'd ever played. They guys weren't just checking her twice as often, but twice as hard. They'd gone from calling her "honey" to calling her "bitch". When they pinned her against the boards, they'd keep her there a little longer than necessary, grinding against her and laughing when she tried to fight them off, breathing in her ear "You know you like it."

Her team had shown remarkable restraint in all this. Their coach had been very clear that they shouldn't retaliate, and had told the other team's coach to get the behaviour under control, but if anything they just amped it up.

With nine minutes to go, she received a pass from one of her wingers, dodging a player's attempt at a check while she looked for an opportunity to pass to someone. She heard someone shout out "Check the fucking bitch!" just as someone else slammed into her from behind.

The pain was sudden and astonishing. The ice came up to hit her in the face, her whole body sliding into the boards from the force. She tried to scramble to her feet straight away like she always did, but her elbows buckled from the pain. "Stay down", she heard someone say amid the chaos around her. Everyone was shouting - her coach, her teammates. The crowd had hushed into anxious whispers.

She let herself go limp against the cool surface of the ice, willing herself to keep breathing until her lungs felt like her own again.

* * *

"Get up," Max whispered. There were tears hanging in her eyes, her hands hovering over her mouth. "Get up, baby, please get up…"

Beside her, Olivia reached for Peter's hand.

Remarkably, they saw their daughter push herself to her feet, the crowd clapping for her as her teammates helped her off the ice. The referee pulled the guy who checked her aside, signalling to the crowd as he called out, "Two minutes – checking from behind".

"_Two minutes_?" Peter yelled back. "Suspend that son of a bitch!"

"Peter…" Olivia murmured, trying to keep him calm.

The player was not pleased either, arguing with the ref as he was led off the ice. "I just ran into her, it was an accident! Not my fault the bitch can't skate!"

Peter forced himself to stay in his seat and not beat the living shit out of the kid. He'd allow his daughter to finish out the rest of the game if she chose to, for the sake of her own pride. Then he was going to make sure she never played with these boys again.

* * *

Their coach ordered a time-out to get the team together after Etta's hit. Sitting on the bench with a group of furious 18-year-old hockey players standing around her, she'd never felt so small.

"I can play, Coach."

He rubbed a hand across his chin. "I'm not sure that's the best idea, Seven. You took a pretty hard hit out there."

"I'm not hurt, I just got the air knocked out of me," she insisted. "I'm good, I promise. If I stop now, they get exactly what they want. I need to see this through, sir. There's only a few minutes left of play. Please."

Thinking about it for a moment, he reluctantly nodded. "Alright. But the rest of you, listen up. I don't want anyone looking for payback out there. We're two points up – we can't afford to lose that lead over some cheap fights. It's been an ugly game but let's finish it right."

With three minutes left of play, Etta's line headed to centre ice for a face-off. Moving her hands lower on her stick, she braced herself for the puck drop opposite the other team's centreman. He grinned cockily, edging a little closer. "Tell me something, Blondie," he whispered so her teammates wouldn't hear and beat the shit out of him. "Whose cock did you suck to get a spot on this team?"

She didn't acknowledge his taunt with a response, gripping her stick even tighter. But the ref had heard him, grabbing him by the collar of his jersey. "That's enough," he scolded. "Two minutes – unsportsmanlike conduct."

"What?" the player shouted. "This is bullshit!"

"You guys have been at this all day. Be grateful I haven't called the whole game. Get off my ice, son."

The centre glared at her and skated away, forcing the team to rearrange their players. They would be down one man for the next two minutes.

This was Brookline High's opportunity to claim the game.

The ref dropped the puck and Etta fought for it hard enough to win it, quickly passing it to her left wing. Baker Street fought hard to get it back, but Brookline had made it up towards their goal. With a minute left in the power play, Etta made another assist by passing to one of her wingers, who gave his best one-timer slapshot and scored.

That was all they needed.

When the game was over, some of the Baker Street players refused to shake her hand. Cole cursed them out for it, but she didn't care. She'd proven them wrong and embarrassed them on their home ice. That was enough for her.

In the locker room, every player came up once again to personally slap her on the back or give her a hug.

"Nice one, H."

"You sure gave them hell."

"Good job out there, Seven."

But when her coach came in, the whirlwind of the game really started to hit her. He clapped a hand down on her shoulder as she sat on the bench, removing her shin pads. "You alright, Seven?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"You need any ice for that hit?"

She shook her head.

Sighing, he crouched down beside her and lowered his voice. "Listen to me. You played a hell of a game out there, kid. I couldn't be more proud of you."

Etta thanked him softly and excused herself to go to the small toilet at the back of the change room. She didn't want her teammates to see her cry.

* * *

"This is totally unfair!" Etta cried.

"It's not up for discussion, Henrietta. You're not doing this anymore."

She couldn't believe he was doing this to her. Her father, of all people. She could feel the anger radiating off him as they strode outside to where her mother and Max were waiting by the car. The two women immediately came to her.

"Etta," her mother gasped, taking her face in her hands and frantically checking her over. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I'm OK, Mom. It wasn't as bad as it looked."

When Olivia let her go, Max was the one who seized her, all tenderness and need. "You scared me so much," Max whispered into her hair. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "Except my Dad's being an asshole."

"Etta, don't talk about your father like that," Olivia reprimanded her relatively gently, knowing Peter had done something to upset her. "What happened?"

"I don't want her doing this anymore."

"You can't make me stop playing," Etta cried, still gripping Max for support. "You can't."

"Don't argue with me. I'm your father and it's my decision."

"You taught me how to skate," Etta wept in disbelief. "You can't just give me this thing that I love and then take it away from me."

Peter ran a hand over his face. He couldn't stand seeing his daughter cry – let alone making her cry. "I've got nothing against you playing hockey. We'll find you a regional girls' team to play on."

"No! Why should I have to stop playing with my friends at school?"

"Etta, your school only has male teams and I'm not about to let you go through what I saw today ever again. You can play make new friends on a girls' team."

"It's not the same, Dad. Girls' teams have no contact rules. I'm never going to be taken seriously by college scouts if I don't have experience on male teams."

"Etta, you're an outstanding player, I'm sure you'll get a scholarship either way."

"This isn't fair! I've been playing with the guys for years, they're like family to me. Why should _I_ be punished over this? I didn't even do anything wrong!"

"Etta, we're not debating this. The decision's final."

"Peter, I know you're upset about the game, but let's just take a minute to calm down," Olivia turned to her daughter. "Etta, get your things in the car, we're giving Max a ride home. We'll sort this out, OK? I promise."

Wiping her face, Etta let Max help her put her giant hockey bag and stick in the trunk of the car and went to sit with her in the back seat. Without thinking, she immediately allowed herself to be swallowed up in Max's arms, smelling that sweet coconut of her skin as she buried her face in the girl's shoulder. Outside, she could hear her mother trying to calm her father. But she didn't want to hear it. All she wanted was Max. She trembled in the girl's arms, feeling Max smooth a hand over her hair, press light kisses to her forehead, whisper "It's OK, it'll be OK," against her skin until she almost believed the words could be true.

But she felt fear tear up her insides like a switchblade playing wide-receiver in her gut. Hockey was her life. Her friends were her life. He couldn't just take that away from her over something that wasn't even her fault. Could he?

When her parents climbed into the front seats of the car, Etta tore her face from Max's skin, still securely sheltered in the girl's embrace. "Please, Dad, I -"

"_Not now_, Etta."

"Peter," Olivia tried to placate him, not used to hearing him use such a tone with their daughter. She knew Peter's fury wasn't actually directed at Etta, but she couldn't imagine how hurtful it must have been for the girl to hear.

"Shit," he swore under his breath.

"What?"

"God damn car won't start," he muttered, exhaling heavily as he opened the door and stepped out. "Let me see if I can bring it back to life."

Etta couldn't explain it, but in the last few moments, she'd felt something change in her. This emotion she was feeling – this strange collision of fear and closeness – seemed to beat like a vibration all the way down to her bones. She didn't like it. It felt like something was pushing against the membrane of her skin, like it was bursting to get out. It dizzied her. Everything was too bright. Even with her eyes clenched shut, light seemed to pound against the inside of her skull.

The only other time she'd felt anything remotely like this was the first time Max kissed her, but it had been softer – a bubbling, churning thing. It had felt like a wild energy pouring into her - like arousal, or a laugh. This felt much more like energy draining _out_. Like the worst headache she'd ever had, like smashing a fist into an old wound. Her whole body felt bruised.

It was probably just the adrenaline of the game wearing off, she told herself. She must have been hit harder than she thought.

She curled further into Max's body, wishing it all away.

"I don't feel good," she groaned.

"You hit the ice pretty hard, baby girl," her mother said, reaching back in the car to squeeze her ankle, like she used to do when Etta was little. "We'll get you home as soon as we can so you can rest."

She felt Max kiss her temple. But even that hurt. Everything hurt.

Her mother twisted around in her seat and handed her some tissues, which she accepted. Her head was pounding. She drank some water, wiped her face. Olivia then placed a hand on Max's knee. "I'm so sorry you had to see this, Maxine."

"It's fine. I don't mind," she replied. Olivia could see that the girl saw comforting Etta through a family fight as a privilege rather than a burden – something she was glad to do.

"Sweetheart, you know what your father's like," Olivia tried to reason with her daughter. "He's just overreacting because he's scared for you. Let me have a talk to him. I'm sure by tomorrow morning, he'll come around. He always does."

Etta nodded, knowing her mother was right. She felt the fear inside her - and the alien feeling that came with it - start to retract its claws. The pain in her head was fading.

_I just want to go home_, she thought.

The lights on the car switched on, the engine rumbling to life.

"I don't know what the hell I did," Peter muttered as he climbed back into the car and put on his seatbelt. "But it's working again."

The drove in silence for a little while. Olivia found herself spying on the girls in the rear-view mirror, observing the tenderness with which Max held her daughter close, comforting her. Etta's head rested against her shoulder as her weeping began to slow. Max brushed tears from Etta's cheeks with her thumbs, pressed her lips against the blonde hair.

Olivia wondered if this was what she and Peter looked like sometimes, when they'd find each other after a dangerous raid at work, keeping a professional distance until they got back to their car, instantly coming together and staying there until they felt safe again.

It was the kind of companionship she'd always wanted Etta to find one day.

She watched Max nuzzle the top of Etta's head with her nose. "Hey," Max whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I just wanted to say…I thought you played really well today. I'm sorry those guys treated you like shit. But you were _amazing_ out there."

Etta sniffled, whispering a "thank you" as she closed her eyes, letting the girl take her whole weight. She looked exhausted.

Olivia realised, painfully and shamefully, that Max had been the only one in the car to congratulate Etta on her game. They'd been so concerned about her being hurt, so angry about the way she'd been treated, that they'd completely neglected to mention the goal she scored, the assists she made, the fact that her team even won.

She'd played that well at a _varsity_ game. With _18-year-olds_.

Olivia reached back to squeeze her daughter's ankle. "Max is right, baby girl. You were so tough out there. You could have lost your temper or given up or let it get to you, and you didn't. We're so proud of you."

Etta shook her head. "Dad isn't."

"Is that really what you think, kiddo?" Peter sighed, realising how much his words hurt his little girl.

His daughter shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze in the rear-view.

"Etta, I couldn't be more proud of you," he insisted. "You handled that game a hell of a lot better than I did. It just scared me so much, seeing those guys push you around like that, hearing what they were saying about you. It scared me because I love you. You understand that, right?"

"Yeah," she replied. "But that doesn't mean you get to punish me for how they acted. I just played one of the hardest games of my life, one of the best games of my life, and I feel like you didn't even notice. I was trying so hard, Dad."

"I know, honey. I did notice, I promise. It was just such a shock to me. When did your hockey games get so sexist?"

"It doesn't happen that often," she tried to explain. "But Baker Street's always been a rough team, they never play clean hockey, everyone knows that. Players might say sexist stuff sometimes to try and throw me off, but it's never usually as bad as today. If you came to more of my games, you'd know that."

The last comment had bite, and he felt every bit of it.

"You're right, sweetheart," he breathed, running a hand over his face when they were stopped at a red light. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

When she finally met his gaze in the mirror, her eyes were big and blue and wet, and in that instant, he could have sworn she was three again.

"You aren't really going to make me quit the team, are you, Dad?"

Damn that girl and her eyes. When had he ever been able to say no to that face?

He clenched and unclenched his hands around the wheel, trying not to let her sway him so easily. Whatever decision he made, it had to be in her best interest. And he couldn't make a clear choice with his little girl looking at him like that. "Let me sleep on it, kiddo. I'll be a lot calmer in the morning."

Reluctantly, she accepted his answer and leaned back against Max. Something told Peter that Etta knew she'd already won.

The drove the rest of the way to Back Bay in silence.

"Anywhere along here is fine," Max said as they got close, the streets around them lined with million-dollar brownstones.

"I thought you lived on Bryant Street," Peter replied.

"I'd prefer to be dropped a block or two away, if that's alright. If my parents see me get out of your car, they'll get suspicious. I can walk the rest of the way."

"No problem."

He stopped at a street close by, and Max gathered her things. "Thank you so much for the ride home. I really appreciate it."

"It was our pleasure. It was so nice to meet you, Max," Olivia replied.

"You too, Mrs Dunham."

"I'll walk her out," Etta said, getting out of the car with Max. The two of them walked to the end of the street. "I'm so sorry you had to see me fight with my Dad."

Max let out a sardonic chuckle. "That was tame compared to when I fight with my parents, believe me."

They stopped at the corner. "Are you going to be OK walking home by yourself?"

"It's only a couple of blocks. And Back Bay's like the safest part of Boston, I'll be fine."

"I wish we didn't have to do this," Etta breathed. She reached for Max's hips, gently pulling her in as she stepped closer for a kiss.

Max immediately began to step away. "Not here."

"There's no one around."

"We're too close to my house."

Etta exhaled, trying to quell the frustration rising in her. Max had told her from the beginning it would be like this. She'd always been honest about her situation, and Etta couldn't hold that against her.

"I'm sorry," Max whispered, dropping her gaze.

"It's not your fault," Etta replied, pulling her into a tight hug instead, twisting her fingers into her dark hair, pressing a hidden kiss to her shoulder. "I don't want to get you in trouble. I care about you so much."

"I care about you, too," Max whispered. The words felt like a kiss against her skin.

All Etta wanted was to take the girl's face in her palms and kiss her on the mouth. Right there. She didn't care that her parents were probably watching from the car. Etta wanted people to see them. She hated that Max could only kiss her in empty rooms and quiet streets. She wanted to be able to tell her friends at school that they were dating, without the news getting around to everyone the way she knew it would. She wanted to tell everyone how much she cared about this girl, to hold her hand in public and kiss her in front of the whole world.

But for now, holding her would have to be enough.

In the car, Peter tried to avert his gaze, giving his daughter some privacy. His wife put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you OK?"

He nodded, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"You know you're gonna have to take back everything you said today, right?"

"Yeah. I know."

"I'm sorry you had to see that game," she sympathised with him, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. "It was hard for me to watch too. But Peter, this is what she loves to do. And she proved today that she's incredible at it, no matter what people do to try and stop her. She's strong."

"She sure is," he replied, recognising pride in his own voice as he returned a kiss to the top of her head. "She's a little too much like you sometimes – drawn to situations where she could be crushed like a bug."

"Well, she does it well." Olivia smirked against his shirt. "I mean, really, Peter – have you ever seen anything make our daughter anywhere _near_ as happy as hockey does?"

"Actually, yeah," he replied, glancing back out the front window of the car. "That girl right there."

**Next chapter: Olivia and Peter get a blast from the past while working on the case, and things get just a tad sexy between Etta and Max**

**But for now, please review like the lovely creatures you are : )**


	9. Breathless

**Chap 9: Breathless**

Peter played the music like a prayer.

The notes drifted across the wooden floorboards of their Brookline home like autumn leaves, pushing back against the walls and returning to the hearth of his ear as if coming home. All these years later, he still remembered the piece perfectly. Ben's piece. It had been running through his head like a stream these past few weeks – gentle, flowing, beckoning. But the water line was rising. And slowly, so slowly, it was drowning him.

He wasn't sure what the music meant to him anymore. In the past, he'd always associated the melody with the previous case. How in the beginning, when Ben was still missing, it had sounded like a cry for help from a misunderstood, lost child. A whimper. A wordless scream. Then, after the boy was returned to his father, the music reminded Peter of one of his first big successes with Fringe Division – the kind that, despite his previous misgivings about being Walter's babysitter, were slowly convincing him to stay. Since that time, the music had only been a beautiful thing.

Now, it had gone back to sounding like a howl.

He could not stop thinking about the new missing boy. Theo. It had been weeks now. What few leads they'd gathered on the scene had lead them nowhere. They'd struggled to find any motive for someone to take Theo. If there was a link to the old case, they hadn't found it yet. The next steps in their investigation were coming slowly. Ben Stockton's Aunt had refused them permission to interview Ben in hospital, blaming the FBI for the state of her irreversibly traumatised nephew after they failed to save him in this timeline. The legal department was still trying to get them clearance to see Loeb in prison.

_Justice is slow_, they continued to tell Theo's family.

Meanwhile, every day that passed was another day the boy was gone.

For God's sake, he was only five.

He _is_ only five, Peter reminded himself. He could still be alive.

Peter continued to harness the choir in his hands, drawing each note from the piano with focus and need, hoping for it to trigger some kind of memory, some lead he'd forgotten from the first case. He found himself recalling how Walter used to play music in the lab to awaken his mind in situations like this. It always helped.

But he was no Walter.

Two hands came to curve over his shoulders, squeezing gently. "You alright?"

Ceasing to play any longer, he let his hand leave the keys to drape over hers. "Yeah."

"Channelling your inner Walter?" she murmured as she bent from behind him to kiss his cheek, a slight tease in her voice. "Playing music to clear your head?"

He gave her a close-lipped smile. "Something like that."

Her hands began to massage his shoulders, and he gave himself over to the feeling.

"You miss him, don't you?"

He sighed. "I just can't help but think that, if he was here, we would have solved this case by now."

"Maybe."

"I don't have his mind, Olivia."

"I know. But you're incredibly brilliant in your own right. Minus the insatiable Red Vines obsession." She pulled herself closer, wrapping her arms around his chest. "We'll figure this out together. I promise. And I have some good news."

"Hmm?"

"Ben's Aunt just called. She said she's willing to give us permission to interview him. Today."

"You got her to change her mind? You're a genius," he praised, twisting around to give her a kiss.

"Come on," she said, smiling against his lips. "We should go before she changes her mind. And Etta wants us to give her a ride to the Common on our way to the hospital. She has a date with Max."

"I'll go get her," he replied as he got up and climbed the stairs to Etta's room.

When he got there, he found her facing the mirror wearing denim shorts and a small top that brought out the flatness of her stomach, carefully applying some gloss to her lips. To say the sight surprised him would be an understatement.

"Woah. You look nice."

She turned to him, a demure smile on her face. "Try not to sound so shocked."

"Sorry, it's just - When did you start wearing make-up?"

"Relax, Dad, it's just a little lip gloss," she chuckled, putting the cap back on and smacking her lips in the mirror, making sure it was spread evenly.

"Still, it's a big step up for you. It's not even a special occasion."

Etta shrugged. "It's raspberry. Max likes the taste."

Whatever warm, bubbly, proud-Dad feelings he had about seeing his daughter in make-up immediately left him. He exhaled, running a hand over his face, trying to banish from his brain all thoughts of his little girl doing…things.

"I did not need to know that."

Etta smirked and replied, "You asked."

"Well remind me to never ask again. Ever."

"Dad, I'm 15, not 5."

"Whatever, just – just meet us in the car when you're ready to go," he stammered, hastily leaving the room.

* * *

At her parents' permission, Etta gathered Shy from the backyard and brought him with her in the car, knowing he'd like to run around at the Common all day while she was with Max. He was so ecstatic to be going on a trip. He kept turning in circles in the back of the SUV, barking in delight and pawing at the windows as the world flew by him.

"Relax, boy, we'll be there soon," Etta laughed.

"What's the plan today, sweetheart?" Olivia asked her.

"The Autumn Markets are on at the Common this weekend so we thought we'd check them out. Is it OK if we come back home for a while after?"

"Will it be just the two of you?"

"Yeah."

"OK then. We don't mind you having friends over without us there, as long as it's not a group of you and you let us know beforehand," Olivia replied, knowing her husband was tensing beside her at the thought of Max and Etta being alone in the house together.

"I appreciate it. We can't go to Max's house and she's paranoid about us being seen together outside, so it's the only place we can really be ourselves."

"That must be hard," Peter sympathised, softening.

"I hate it," she admitted. "But what can I do? I can't force her into something she's not comfortable with."

"You're being really good about this, baby girl," her mother encouraged her, reaching back to squeeze her ankle.

Etta sighed, staring out the window. She wished there was a better way to be with Max than this. But for now it would have to do.

* * *

Ben's hospital reminded Peter and Olivia so much of St Claire's, it almost gave them déjà vu. The walls were a faded white, the corridors long and devoid of hope. The doors screeched when opened. At the end of each hallway, patients stared at nothing – out the windows, at the walls.

They found Ben's aunt in the reception area, braced against the desk as if it was the only thing keeping her up.

"Mrs Stockton?"

She didn't turn to face them, rather, ran a hand over her hair and exhaled. "Ben's father would be turning in his grave if he found out I was doing this."

Olivia suddenly recalled how, when Ben first went missing, his Aunt had pleaded with her to find him, saying that her brother wouldn't be able to survive the loss of both his wife and his son. This memory came from her native timeline – she was fairly sure. Maybe it was both. But a hazier memory also emerged. His aunt's prediction had proven true. When they failed to return Ben unharmed in this timeline, his father had descended into self-blame and alcoholism. Coming home from visiting Ben in the hospital one night, he was driving drunk and wrapped himself around a tree.

"I understand that this must be difficult for you," Olivia told the other woman.

"No. No you don't."

The retort had so much bite, it almost sent her backward.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

The woman snatched the forms from a receptionist and signed them with a shaking hand. "He won't be able to tell you anything. He's too… He's gone."

"We understand," Peter replied, taking the clipboard from her. "But thank you for letting us try. All the other victims from the first case were older and have since passed away. He's our only shot at finding a connection right now."

"Well, I just hope you find this other boy."

"We hope so too."

One of the guards opened the bar door behind them with a sharp, metallic clang. Giving Mrs Stockton another look of silent apology, they began to step through.

"Please," she said, stopping them.

"Yes?"

She wiped her eyes. "Please, just…be careful with him."

They nodded. "Of course."

* * *

Etta wondered if - if hell existed - it would resemble needing something terribly and not being able to have it. Like starving and having food dissolve into dust in your hands, or being thirsty but having every drink of water cruelly evaporate just before it hit your tongue.

That is what it felt like being with Max in public.

Her hand was _right there_.

But she couldn't even think about reaching for it.

That's not to say that she didn't enjoy being with Max in a non-physical sense. She loved talking with her, joking about stupid things and just hanging out. They wandered through the markets at the Boston Common, sun high and bright for an autumn day, with Shy faithfully trotting along behind them, hoping to score a bite of meat from one of the stalls. He started to whine, jumping up to paw at Etta's thighs to get her attention.

"Calm down, Shy," she laughed. "You just had lunch at home, don't get greedy."

"He's such a crazy dog," Max agreed, ruffling the fur at the top of his head and scratching behind his one good ear. "But we should get him something. It isn't fair for us to enjoy all the street food if he's not getting any."

"See, this is why I can never bring him out with us, you spoil him too much."

"What can I say? I'm powerless against his charms. I mean, look at that face," Max giggled, continuing to scratch Shy who happily leaned into her touch, wagging his tail. "God, dogs are so simple. Anything makes them happy."

_I'd be that happy too if you held my hand right now_, Etta thought to herself. But she pushed the thought aside. It was pathetic to be jealous of her own dog.

And he wasn't the only one she was jealous of. All around her, couples were on dates, holding hands as they made their way through the market stalls. Kids their own age trying to do dates on a budget, older couples who looked like they'd been together for 30 years.

It seemed like the cruellest thing in the world that Max wouldn't allow her to hold her hand. But she tried to remember that this wasn't something Max was doing _to_ her. She was just as much of a victim of the situation as Etta was. Actually, that was a gross understatement. No one suffered from her parents' prejudices more than Max.

Etta forgot that sometimes.

So instead of getting frustrated like so much of her wanted to, she smiled down at her girlfriend, joining her in scratching Shy's fur. As she did so, her pinky accidentally grazed Max's hand, sending a jolt through her. Max's breath stuttered, a sign that she'd felt it too. The girl blushed and stood to her feet.

"We should keep going," she said, her demure smile letting Etta know that she wasn't ashamed. If anything, the touch had excited her.

Etta nodded, breathless, and followed her through the market.

* * *

To find Ben, all they had to do was follow the music.

His doctor had given them the run down before they went to see him. _He'd be completely silent without that piano_, she had explained. _If you try and get him to stop playing before he's ready, he'll get violent. He only speaks while he's playing, or writing music. When he does speak, he's obsessed with talking about his mother. He won't be able to give you much. _

He was almost 30 now, but mentally and emotionally, he hadn't progressed past the age of 10 – the age at which he'd be kidnapped. It was bound to be a tough interview. It had been a while since they had dealt with someone so unstable. But Peter felt oddly comfortable walking through the halls. In some strange way, being in a place like this, reconnecting with someone from an old case, made him feel closer to Walter.

They found Ben at the piano in the corner, but the music was the only thing that made them recognise him. It wasn't just the years since their last meeting. This man was incredibly thin. The chestnut brown hair he'd had in his boyhood had been shaved back – likely due to hospital procedure. Lice. Electrodes.

Regardless, he recognised Olivia. "I know you," he said, his hands continuing the music.

"Hi Ben," she greeted him with a gentle smile. She tried to remember that, as far as his mental age was concerned, she was speaking to a boy. "My name is Olivia. I tried to help your Dad find you a long time ago, when somebody took you away. Do you remember that?"

Ben nodded, turning his face back to the keys. He was clearly disinterested in whatever they had to say, but still asked, "Who's he?"

"This is my colleague, Peter."

"It's good to meet you, Ben," Peter said, knowing he wouldn't remember him in this timeline.

The young man gave no response, continuing to play. Peter and Olivia pulled up some chairs. Suddenly, Ben's melody became fractured, his fingers stuttered over the keys. He was shaking.

"Ben?" Olivia asked. "Ben, what's wrong?"

When he turned to her, he was starting to cry. "My mom – you haven't found her, have you?"

"No. I'm sorry."

He nodded his acceptance, as if he'd been foolish to ever expect another answer. "The doctors here keep telling me she's dead. But she's alive, I've seen her since the accident. At first I thought she was dead too. I saw her… I saw her…" He took a shuddering breath. The music stopped entirely when he brought his palms face-up, staring at them in horror, his face crumpling. "There's so much blood," he sobbed. His hands were shaking. "Mom… She's not waking up… Mom…"

Olivia had seen this look before – in fellow marines, in colleagues at the bureau – who suffered flashbacks while they had PTSD. In Ben's mind, he was back on that road, clutching his mother's body, begging her to come back to him. But she didn't understand how that could be. He was knocked into a coma immediately – in the original timeline at least – and couldn't possibly have seen his mother in that state.

Olivia shifted from her chair to the edge of Ben's piano stool, taking her trembling hands in his. "Ben, look at me," she told him gently. "Ben, I know it feels like you're in a bad place right now, but believe me when I say you're not there. You're here with me. In the hospital. We're playing piano. Nothing can hurt you. You're right here, you're safe."

But Ben shook his head violently, sending tears flying. "She killed her. She killed her."

This was new. Peter and Olivia shared a look, realising he wasn't talking about the accident at all. "Who, Ben?"

"The woman. The one who took me. She gave me my mom back and then took her away again. Because I couldn't finish the song. She killed her."

"I'm so sorry that happened, Ben," Peter told him. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I couldn't finish the song. I still can't finish it. Maybe if I try harder, the woman will give her back to me. She's alive, she can come back. That woman keeps her locked up in the castle where she took me. I can get her back. I just have to finish the song. But I can't. I'm stupid. I'm stupid."

Ben put his head in his hands and sobbed. His fingers scratched harshly at his skin, and Olivia noticed that his fingernails had been kept short. Up his arms, little scars marred his skin, thin like needles. He was a self-harmer.

"Ben, you're not stupid," Peter said. "We came here because we think you can help us with something really important. A little boy's been taken. A little boy just like you. Do you remember anything else about what happened to you? Anything at all?"

But the young man shook his head, unable to keep himself from crying. Olivia placed a hand on his jerking shoulder. "That's OK, Ben. You did a good job. You tried your best."

Sobbing, he collapsed against her, clutching at her jacket while he cried into her shoulder. "I just want her back."

Fighting the guilt that scratched at her insides, she hugged him back. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

* * *

"Oh wow. This is so cute."

Etta squeezed through the people gathered around one of the market stalls to peek over Max's shoulder. The crowds forced them close together, and Etta felt her skin tingle with want to meet Max's. It would be so easy to lean over another centimetre, and kiss that same shoulder as a greeting. So easy.

"What did you find?" she asked instead.

Max picked up something from the cluttered table or handmade jewellery, showing Etta the swirly, silver, heart-shaped pendant in her hand.

Etta almost had to laugh. "You like heart pendants? Really? I should alert your punk band, let them know they have an undercover romantic in their ranks."

"Don't you see it? It's an upside-down treble clef and a bass clef stuck together to make a heart."

Etta ran her fingertips over the pendant, only now noticing it. "Actually that is pretty cool," she admitted.

"Do you see anything you like, girls?" the lady behind the stall asked them.

"We were just looking at this one."

"Oh this is one of my favourites," the woman gushed. "The neat thing about it is you can wear it as one pendant or as two. You can take it apart like this," she explained, unclipping the pendant at its centre to break it into two shapes, and flipping the treble the right way up, "so each person has half the heart– one the treble clef, one the bass."

Max smiled. "Cool."

"Do you like it?" Etta asked her.

"I love it."

"I didn't expect you to be into cute girly things like this," she chuckled.

"Hey, you're the one who always says I'm a walking oxymoron. Come on, can we get it?"

"We? You mean like matching necklaces?" Etta asked skeptically, not sure if Max was joking.

"Well it's way too soon for rings and tattoos were so 90s."

"You're serious."

"OK, I know it's tacky as hell, but for some reason I find it really cute. I play violin, you play piano - they'll look like innocent music necklaces so no one has to know we're being corny. Come on, I'll pay."

"No. 50/50 on everything, that's what we agreed," Etta said, handing over her half of the money.

Max grinned, and it pleased Etta to make her so happy. What pleased her more, what made her stomach flutter, was the realisation that this was one of the only public displays of affection that Max had ever initiated. Even if no one knew what the necklaces meant but them, it was something.

They bought the pendant and two chains to go with it. Moving on to the food tents, they picked up some traditional lemonade and a couple of burritos, as well as some meat for Shy to munch on, before heading down to the water. The sun gently warmed their bodies as they sat and ate their food, Shy having run off to play in the water, trying to chase the paddle boats people were using to enjoy the last of Boston's autumn weather.

And still, Etta couldn't help but melt every time her shoulder would graze against Max's, the way that she'd glance over to her sometimes and catch her glancing back. The way how, when Max had a bit of sauce in the corner of her mouth, she had to sit on her hands so she wouldn't reach out with her thumb and wipe it from her lips.

"You know I still can't believe I've never heard you play piano," Max said after a while, wiping the sauce away herself. "It's hardly fair. You've seen me and Ethan play in the band. You should come and jam with us sometime."

"I dunno," Etta replied shyly. "I do it more for myself, to sort things out in my head. I'm not much a performer. That's all you. And don't say it isn't fair, I haven't even seen you dance."

"Still. I'd like to hear you play," Max coaxed her, nudging her a little bit. Etta's breath caught at the contact. Looking over, she found Max biting her lip, blushing as she turned her face away.

"You will," Etta replied, wanting nothing else but to kiss that blush from her cheek.

Etta recognised the same want in Max's eyes, the kind that turned their Malamute blue into something dark and bold and alive.

"Do you still have those necklaces?" Max's eyes flicked briefly to Etta's lips as she asked the question.

Etta nodded, taking them from the little package the stall lady had put them in and threaded the chains through each of them. Her hands trembled, and one of them fell to the grass before she could manage it. She blushed. "Treble or bass?"

"You take bass. You're the steady one."

"Lift your hair."

Max obeyed, and Etta draped the necklace around her neck, locking the clasp. When it was done, she let her fingers linger over the back of her neck for a moment, causing Max to shudder before she let her hair fall back down. "Your turn," Max told her, and there was something different in her voice. In her eyes. Etta couldn't decipher whether it was adoration or shyness or hunger.

With shaking hands, Etta lifted her own hair, briefly closing her eyes and soaking in the feeling as Max clasped the second necklace around her neck. The weight of it came naturally to Etta. It felt as if she'd always worn it. Max let her fingers trace along the chain, all the way down to the pendant. On the way, they grazed, just barely, the top of Etta's left breast.

Etta didn't dare believe the touch was anything more than accidental.

Max blushed, but didn't stop herself from still tracing over the bass clef with her fingertip.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

Breathless, Etta trembled at the touch, causing Max to realise what she was doing. The girl withdrew her hand, perhaps a little too slowly, and forced herself to occupy it by picking petals from a flower growing between them.

But Etta refused to let her shrink away. She leaned over, whispering as she got closer. "Do you want me to take you back to my place for a while?"

When Max looked up, their faces a breath away, her eyes were ablaze.

"You better."

* * *

By the time Olivia was walking back to the car, her hands were shaking. She brushed back her hair, tried to steady her breathing. She was a failure – such a failure – for not being able to save Ben in this timeline. For letting him end up like this.

"Well, we tried," Peter said, walking beside her. "He wasn't able to give us anything that wasn't already in his original statements. God, he was out of it, though – one minute he thinks his mother's alive, then he goes on about how he saw her die. Twice. Poor kid."

He sighed, noticing that his wife wasn't responding.

"It was always a long shot anyway, we still don't really know how much Theo is connected to the old case."

Olivia nodded, continuing to stride until they reached the car. She fumbled with the keys.

"Hey, you alright?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't," Olivia snapped pulling away from him.

"Olivia," Peter sighed, "I know what you're thinking."

"Oh do you? Enlighten me."

"You're thinking about how this is all your fault. How we got nothing new out of Ben today and we're just going to fail all over again with Theo."

Damn that man – always being right. He knew her so well. Too well, sometimes.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, stepping a little closer. "You did the best you could with Ben."

"How do you know? You weren't even in existence."

"Because you always do. And you'll do your best with Theo. He's our main priority right now. We have to focus on him."

He noticed Olivia lock her jaw before she spoke. "We should go back to the office. See if legal's managed to get us permission to see Loeb yet."

When she turned from him and pushed herself into the car, he let her go. He just hoped that eventually, they'd find Theo – and if they didn't, that he'd be able to show his wife that she wasn't to blame.

_Yeah good luck with that_, he thought to himself, and joined her in the car.

* * *

They barely made it home.

The subway ride home seemed to take hours, but Etta had used the crowded car as an excuse to hold onto Max, her hands gently framing each of the girl's hips as she gripped the hand rail above their heads, Shy curled at their feet. Etta deliberately kept her close, letting her breath tease the back of her neck. She felt Max's back arc in response, felt her tremble in her hands. This was the part of being with Max that most excited her. Etta was young, inexperienced. She was still discovering her own beauty, her own pleasure. More than that, she was discovering her power. The only thing more exhilarating than the way Max's touch made her shudder, was knowing that she could do the same thing back to her. She could kiss her on the mouth and make her heart stop. She could use her breath to make her shiver. And Etta knew that, if they were ever to go far enough one day, she could use a single finger to make her beg.

The very thought of that had sent her forehead over into Max's shoulder, her own knees weak, heat stretching through the pit of her belly, and lower. "Etta," Max breathed, the whisper a frightened reminder to keep her distance. Etta had forced herself to step away.

But they were home now. Etta's hands were trembling so much she could hardly keep her grip on the keys as she let Shy through the back gate so he could run to the yard. She could feel Max behind her as she finally unlocked the front door and got them in the house.

As soon as they shut it behind them, Max pressed her against the nearest wall, and set her skin alight.

The first time they'd kissed, under the lamp post outside Etta's house, it had been a passionate but tender brush of lips, a gentle exchange of warmth and energy and affection between them. This time, Max showed her no such subtlety. Her tongue pried between Etta's lips almost immediately – not aggressively, but unexpectedly enough to make her whimper. The sound vibrated between them like a baseline. Once Etta recovered from the initial shock of it, she allowed herself to open up, emotionally and physically, reacting with as much instinct as her hyperactive brain would allow. It was clumsy – she had no idea what she was doing – but it was by far the most erotic thing she'd ever done with another person. By the time Max began kissing down her neck, Etta was gripping her, trembling. Every part of her surged to meet Max, whose hands slid down to the small of Etta's back, around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, closer, closer.

"God, you smell like peaches," Max breathed. The words were hot against Etta's neck, quickly swallowed by the kisses Max continued to crush there. Etta mentally thanked her cousin for giving her that peach body butter last Christmas that she'd never bothered opening until after she started dating.

_God, what am I doing?_ Etta wondered. _Are we…making out?_

_I don't even know how to do this._

Max must have felt her freeze up, because she stopped and took Etta's face in her palm, nuzzling the younger girl's nose with hers. "You OK?"

Breathless, Etta only nodded.

"You're doing fine," Max whispered, peppering kisses to her nose, her cheek, her lips. "Just don't think."

Etta could only nod again, letting her eyes flutter closed and leaning into every touch. She had no name for this sensation that was turning her inside out – this feeling that ran rampant through her body like a storm tearing through a city - heady and wild.

Was it arousal? Need?

Love?

Could she be in love with this girl?

Etta had never been in love before. She wasn't even sure what that meant, really. Because how do you tell? Is there a checklist? An Oxford-written definition?

Regardless, she could see that her feelings for this wondrous, beautiful creature were changing whether she wanted them to or not. She sensed that she was on the verge of something bigger, whether it was love or sexual awakening or just growing up, and at some point, she would tip over that edge, and she wouldn't care anymore about whether or not the fall was going to hurt.

"Don't think," Max repeated, kissing her deep, her tongue gently making contact with Etta's. The touch was unlike anything Etta had felt before. Strange, and wet, and far more slight than she expected. Max was guiding her into this, she realised. She wasn't going to leave her if she made a mistake.

After a while, she even started to like it.

When Max broke away for air and returned to kissing Etta's neck, Etta felt her senses take over her. Doing her best to switch off her brain, she let her body seize what it wanted, dropping her head to kiss Max's shoulder in kind. Her hands teased the skin of her hips just beneath her top, twisted into the girl's brown hair, scratched at her shoulder blades. There was no hesitation, no thought. She wanted this. All of this. All of her.

Etta realised then, that nothing could have prepared her for this – nothing her mother taught her, nothing she had read, nothing girls giggled about at school. No warning could have accurately described this alien feeling that had devoured her without mercy. Forget clothes – Etta wanted to shed her _skin_. To shed it, open Max up, crawl inside of her, and live there. To be encased in her warmth, swim in the smell and the taste of her. To wake, every morning, to the expanse of her body, and breathe it in.

She was soft. So soft.

_And mine_, Etta thought to herself, crushing the word into Max's skin with every sweep of her lips. _Mine, mine, mine._

It was only when they stopped kissing, minutes later, entirely out of breath and leaning on each other for support, that Etta saw the nail marks on Max's skin, and realised just how tightly she'd been holding her.

"Shit!"

"What?"

"Look what I did to you," she breathed, startled by the ease of her own violence.

"It's nothing."

"I'm so sorry. God, I'm terrible at this."

Max laughed at how mortified she was. "Etta, relax. It happens. If it wasn't OK, I would have told you to stop. Besides," she continued, smirking as she leaned in, playfully taking Etta's swollen bottom lip between her teeth as she kissed her, "I like it when you lose control."

Etta fought back a whimper, pulling away after the kiss. She pushed herself off the wall and stepped behind Max, running her fingertips over her arms, her shoulder blades. "Well, I don't," she replied, chastely kissing every spot she'd marked. Remarkably, Max's body sighed under her hands, bracing her trembling body against the wall with both palms. Etta couldn't believe the power of her touch, but the shake in Max's breath made it true. She realised that, if she continued like this, Max would dissolve easily – that she could be the one to make that happen. The idea filled her with a boldness that was entirely new to her, so she pulled aside Max's long, dark hair and built a staircase of kisses up her neck. She experimented along the way, licking in some places, sucking in others, trying to learn the pushes and pulls of Max's body. At a certain spot, the girl gasped and reached around behind her, twisting her hand into a fistful of Etta's hair to keep her still. "You shouldn't do that."

Etta immediately let her go, her face reddening. "Sorry. I didn't mean… I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

Max laughed again, twisting around to lean back against the wall, hooking her arms around Etta's neck to pull her close. "You didn't do anything wrong." She kissed the girl's blushing cheek, hoping that Etta would lift her eyes to look at her, but she didn't. "What I meant was that you shouldn't do that, because if you keep going, I won't be able to stop."

The swayed for a moment like that, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about that…" Etta replied, placing her hands on Max's hips, thumbs tracing circles in the skin just beneath her shirt.

"What?"

"You're way more experienced than me, and I'm OK with that, I just need to know… If you were doing something I wasn't ready for, and I asked you to stop – you would, right?"

"Of course," Max replied, brushing a thumb over Etta's still-pink cheek. "Nothing you don't want."

"OK. Good."

"You'd promise the same for me, right?"

Etta nodded. "Nothing you don't want. I promise."

Max gave her a shy, close-lipped smile, ducking her head a little. Etta found this incredibly intimate – like it was the type of smile Max didn't give to many people. Etta returned it, leaning in to kiss her just as shyly. Simple and tender as it was, it carried the weight of that promise between them.

"I'll take care of you," Etta swore to her. "Always."

Something in Max seemed to soften. Almost like a child, she wrapped her arms around Etta's neck and hugged her close, hiding her face in her shoulder.

It seemed almost as if nobody had ever said that to her before.

**Studies have shown that people who review are 100% more likely to be awesome. Go ahead, do it now! You know you want to…**


	10. Mirrors

**Chapter 10: Mirrors**

**First of all, a huge shout-out to everyone who has been reviewing this story. I particularly want to thank 'xhoffex' – normally I send a PM to everybody who reviews but you don't have an account so I can't! But thank you, lovely person : ) If you guys have any suggestions or questions about the story please let me know.**

**Also, if you like what you're reading, please tell people about this story on any Fringe-related tumblrs you have. I saw someone plug this story on a Fringe art tumblr the other day, so a huge thank you to whoever that was! If some tumblr art ever got made about Etta and Max I think I'd die. **

**Anyway, onto the story…**

Etta felt like someone had taken her lungs and thrown them straight into a blender. The burn reverberated down into her thighs, her calves, as she forced herself forward. Thankfully the temperatures in Boston were starting to drop, with winter coming closer and closer, cooling the sweat on her skin. The thought brought a smile to her face – winter was coming. Winter meant hockey season, seeing her cousins, skating on Reiden Lake with her Dad. Her birthday. Christmas.

Around her, the guys on the team were panting, forcing themselves to run just as hard. These early morning runs were a staple in their training schedule. Their captain, Mike, always insisted that if they were going to train well on-ice, they had to spend time together off-ice too, whether that meant extra training, playing road hockey games just for fun, or just hanging out at one of their houses. Mike was a fun captain – everyone loved him – but he was also a tough leader. These morning runs weren't simply jogs. They were suicide runs.

They jogged around the school campus in a single file line. The person at the back of the line had to sprint all the way to the front, causing a new order in players. Then the next person would have to sprint to the front. This was a brutal drill at the best of times, bound to give you stitches, but at 7am in a Boston autumn, it was agony.

Jamal groaned as his turn came up. "You can do it, J," Etta panted to him. He patted her on the shoulder in thanks and sprinted to the front. Now it was Etta's turn. She felt the burn in her stomach as she forced herself to the front of the line, slowing down her pace as she fell back into a jogging position. Glancing back, she noticed that Ethan had fallen away from the rest of the group. He'd had an injury at training a couple weeks ago that he was still getting over. She turned to Mike, and panted "Ethan."

Mike turned his head as he ran, now seeing the slower player, and nodded to her. "Go check on him. We're almost done."

Etta broke away from the group, letting herself catch her breath as she jogged back to Ethan. "What's up, E? You alright?"

He forced a smile through gritted teeth as he slowed to a walk. "Yeah. Just my fucking quad's tight as a two-year-old."

Ethan was probably the only one of her friends that could get away with saying shit like that. She'd known him long enough that his dark sense of humour didn't even shock her anymore. He was the one who played in a band with Max, but he was far more into punk and metal than she was. He always said he'd start wearing colour when they invented a colour darker than black. His hair was shaved into a Mohawk. There was a piercing through his nose. His t-shirt read "_The church isn't full of hypocrites – there's always room for more_."

Etta liked that he looked scary, but he wasn't. So many people wouldn't talk to him because he looked dangerous or edgy, but he was actually one of the most honest, non-judgemental people she'd ever met. There was never any bullshit with him, and he'd do anything for his friends.

"Take it easy," she told him, slowing to a walk with him. Up ahead, the group had started to slow as they approached the change rooms. "How've you been since you got injured?"

"Not too bad. Every now and then the muscle still nags a bit, you know? I'll play next game for sure though."

"As long as you're ready. You don't want to push yourself too hard."

"Yes Mom," he teased, shoving her playfully.

She just laughed and shoved him back.

"You coming over to Jamal's later? It's his turn for pizza night."

"I can't. I told Max I'd go to her dance studio thing."

He smirked. "You've been hanging out with her a lot lately."

"Yeah, I guess," Etta replied, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. No one at school knew they were together. "She's cool. Thanks for introducing us."

"No problem. Just seems like you're not hanging out with us as much lately."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Mike's getting a little pissed. You know how he likes the team to spend time together and shit."

"I know, I know. We're hanging at yours next week though, right? I'll come then."

"Don't say it if you can't follow through, H."

"I'll be there."

"Good. We miss you round here, kiddo." He smirked, glancing up ahead at where the team had stopped to wait for them, particularly noticing how Jamal was looking back, waiting to talk to Etta. "Jamal misses you."

Etta sighed. "He still likes me, doesn't he?"

"Girl, I'll be honest – half the fucking team likes you."

This genuinely shocked Etta. "What?"

Ethan smirked at her wide eyes. "You're not in Kansas anymore, kid. This isn't like when we were playing back in middle school. These guys are 15 and 16 now. Hormones raging and shit. And let's face it, you don't exactly have the body of an 11-year-old anymore. What did you expect?"

Feeling her face heat up, Etta unconsciously crossed her arms over her chest as they kept walking. But if anything, that made her breasts stand out more, so she dropped them to her sides, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shorts in some useless attempt to make them cover more of her legs. "I didn't think it was that bad."

"Don't let it get to you, H. These guys still respect you – most of them anyway. Half of them would never be able to look at you like that in a million years. I mean, you're a pretty girl and all, but you're like a sister to us. Hell, I'd go for you if it wasn't so incestuous, but I could never see you like that coz we're family – no offence."

"None taken," she replied, unable to stop herself from cringing a bit, even though she knew Ethan didn't mean anything by it. That was just the way he talked. Direct. Unflinching.

"Just…be careful, kiddo," he said seriously. "Most of the guys on the team are great, but if anyone bothers you – tell me, alright?"

Noticing the change in his tone, she narrowed her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can."

"I'm not interested in any of them, anyway. I mean, I used to like Jamal, but I don't anymore."

"I know."

When they got back to the change rooms, Etta just said a few quick words to the others (although deliberately avoiding Jamal), gathered her stuff, and left. She could change in the girl's bathroom near her first classroom instead. She knew what Ethan had said was true – she'd been sensing a new awkwardness between her and some of her teammates in the last year or so. The way they were suddenly uncomfortable around her in certain situations, how as soon as she'd come into the change rooms, they'd barely look at her out of an awkwardly-executed attempt to be respectful. But it didn't make her feel respected. Just ignored.

When she walked back across the sports fields towards the classrooms, her backpack hanging from her shoulder, part of her wanted to cry. She hadn't asked for this.

The first time she knew, really knew, that the guys saw her differently, was at the end of last season, when they were all 14. A guy on an opposing team had cornered her in a locker room after a game to ask her out. They used to be on the same team when they were younger, before he moved to another school, and now that they were suddenly playing each other again, he'd noticed that little Etta Bishop wasn't so little anymore. When she politely said no, he got insistent. As he'd tried to kiss her, he used one hand to corner her against the wall, the other to go on an exploration mission to discover exactly what was filling out little Etta Bishop's t-shirt differently these days.

Needless to say, it had taken her half a second to use a self-defence trick her mom had taught her, and the guy was on the ground crying. Afterwards, she'd gone to her teammates to laugh about kicking his ass the way they always laughed when one of the guys won a fight.

Except that none of them laughed. Jamal had blushed uncomfortably and looked away, as if just noticing her new body for the first time himself. Ezra had paced the room, face red in silent fury. Captain Mike asked if she was OK 20 times in 30 seconds. Ethan slammed his fist into a locker, and he and the others ranted about finding the guy and teaching him some respect.

That wasn't what she wanted when she went to them.

Her voice had wobbled when she tried to tell them that she'd already handled it, and no, she didn't need them to walk her back to her house. And when she went home crying to her mother (she could never tell her father about such a thing if she didn't want him in jail for murder), she cried not because of the way that jerk had treated her, but because her best friends didn't see her as one of them anymore.

Now, crossing the lawn, she felt the exact same loneliness catch in her throat. All she wanted was to go back to when they were kids, when they could all play together and change together and no one really cared or saw her as different. Feeling tears sting the edges of her eyes, she clumsily wrapped her hoody tighter around her chest, both out of a need to shield herself from the early morning cold and from a sudden sense of self-consciousness about her body. She wasn't exactly the most developed of 15 year olds, but Ethan was right - she definitely didn't look 11 anymore. She knew the guys had noticed, based on the way they couldn't even look her in the eyes in the change room these days, but she'd always thought it was just out of embarrassment. She didn't think any of them actually _wanted_ her.

Nothing felt the same with them anymore.

* * *

Etta could barely focus on the music she was playing. She tried to glance at the keys every now and then, but that would mean tearing her eyes away from Max, who was currently dancing in the centre of the room, practicing her pirouettes, her arabesques, her jumps. Etta had never seen Maxine dance before – never knew the effortless way her body could bend and extend and defy gravity despite the pain it must cause to execute such movements.

Etta had only ever known Max with an edge – Max who hated her parents and wore _The Clash_ t-shirts and painted her nails black. This Max was another animal altogether. This Max was all grace.

She looked like a doll – perfectly thin, with the elegance and lightness of a bird. Etta couldn't even count the number of revolutions she could do en pointe without losing her balance. The girl was probably born with those shoes on her feet. This room, lined with mirrors and bars and perfectly polished floors, seemed as familiar to her as the house she grew up in.

It seemed ironic – for a girl with Max's anger – to be so at home amongst mirrors.

But Etta could see, even now, that ballet was the only thing that made Max feel truly beautiful and free. Etta had never seen her so unguarded and raw – not even when she cried, or when they kissed, or when she laughed. Etta could see strength and vulnerability in her now, beauty and pain.

Suddenly Max stopped, catching her breath as she threw a smile over her shoulder back to Etta. "You alright?" she laughed.

Etta nodded, speechless.

"Why'd you stop playing?"

Looking down at her hands, Etta realised that, without her even knowing it, they had indeed gone still.

Max smirked. "Am I distracting you?"

Etta blushed, turning her face to the keys. "Sorry."

Laughing, Max jogged over to her, her steps remarkably light against the floor, and came to sit with Etta on the piano stool. "You're distracting too," she whispered. She bent her head, let her lips brush over the fluttering of Etta's pulse.

The girl melted at the touch, twisting to return a kiss to Max's lips. "Is this OK?" she asked.

"Yeah. We have the studio to ourselves for another hour, so we have some privacy. My mom always books this room out for me so I can practice."

"Jeez. And I thought hockey was an expensive sport."

"You have no idea," Max chuckled, taking Etta's hands in hers, palm to palm, so they were mirror images of each other. "There's booking the space, the private coaching, the training equipment. We even buy new shoes for every performance."

"That seems like a waste."

Max shrugged, kept quiet. Etta knew her wealth was embarrassing for her.

"What was the name of that piece?" Max asked instead, gesturing to the piano.

"I have no idea. My Dad's been playing it a lot at home lately when he needs to clear his head."

"It's beautiful. Do you have the sheet music for it?"

"No, I learned it by ear. I first learned piano by copying my Dad, so I still find it easier to memorise pieces off-paper."

"God, you're smart," Max praised her, quickly kissing her cheek.

"You're a beautiful dancer, you know. I had no idea."

"Thank you. You're a beautiful pianist."

"Thanks. But seriously, you'd make a good figure skater."

Max laughed. "I can't even skate."

"I could teach you. Winter will be here in a couple of months, and they always do skating on the pond down at the Common."

"It's a date."

With a final kiss on the cheek, Max got up and went over to the bars against the wall. She took a drink of water and began to warm down, lifting a leg onto the bar and stretching. She was incredibly flexible, Etta realised. When she finished on the bars and stretched on the floor, her legs formed a straight line. She was wearing tights and a tank top, the clothing accentuating the slim curves of her body as she folded in on herself, extended, bent her body in all different directions.

Etta watched her as if she was watching an animal in the wild, afraid to disturb her and break the reverie she was in. She got up from the piano stool and gently crept over to join Max on the floor, wishing she could be half as graceful and light-footed as the girl before her. Max smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," Etta replied.

She reached out gently and took one of Max's dainty feet reverently in her hands, starting to undo the straps on her pointe shoe. Max pulled away.

"What?" Etta asked.

Max curled her feet under her body. "Don't. I hate my feet."

"Why?"

"They're all bruised and blistered and shit."

Etta shook her head, reached out her hands again. "I love your feet."

It took a moment, but Max softened, stretching out a leg to allow Etta to take off her shoe. Max hadn't been wrong – her feet were marred with fresh blisters, as well as scars and callouses from old ones. Her toes were individually wrapped in tape, and as Etta carefully peeled each one free, she noticed that a couple of the nails were cracked and bloody.

Ballet, for all its elegance, was apparently as brutal as hockey.

Max turned her face away as Etta wet a cloth and wiped her feet clean. She couldn't bare the ugliness of this part of her body. But Etta meant what she said when she told Max she loved her feet. Despite their dainty size and slender arches, the scarring proved they were the only part of Max that was actually as tough as she tried to be on the outside. The only part of her to show her as she really was – beautiful, but battered.

When Etta was done, she massaged Max's sore feet in comfort, then, daring to go further, inched her ¾ tights a little further up, shifting to kiss up the girl's leg. Max shuddered, continued to lay back and pulled Etta over her to kiss her on the mouth.

They'd been making out more and more lately, inching closer and closer to _that line_ every time. It wasn't always like that – they were often entirely content swapping mostly-chaste kisses throughout the night as they watched a movie or cooked together at Etta's house. But the making out had caused Etta to discover new things about herself, and her partner. It felt like a door cracking open, and maybe one day she would be ready to welcome in everything that was waiting on the other side.

Etta continued to kiss Max deep, slow, committing to memory all the little touches that caused moans to roll into her mouth like drops of honey. She adored the rush that went through her whenever she did something to make Max tremble, to make her back arch against the hardwood floor or press her hands against the mirror behind them to ground herself. After a few minutes, Max gently grazed Etta's bottom lip between her teeth, kissing her way to her ear as she ran her hands down the girl's back. "You're being cheeky," she whispered against the shell of her ear.

Etta sat back a bit, straddling Max's waist. "What do you mean?"

Max laughed, sitting up and cupping the girls cheek in her palm. She rubbed their noses together. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?"

Not quite knowing what Max was getting at, Etta shook her head.

Max took her face in both palms, kissed her, long and languid. Etta couldn't help the way her back arched and hips rolled into the girl's body. It was like her body knew more about how to do this than she did. Max slid her hands down to the small of her back, holding her close. In this position, every part of them was connected – their hips, their stomachs, their breasts, their lips. Etta shocked herself when she internally wished that neither of them were wearing clothes. She wanted all of Max – closer, closer, closer. She gasped out a moan in a voice she couldn't recognise to be her own. Max gripped her, pulled her back down to the floor, and before Etta could tell what was going on, she was being gently rolled onto her back.

How Max had learned to be so good at this, to handle another body so effortlessly, was a mystery to her – one she didn't really want to know the answer to all that much. She knew Max had done things with other people, but still hadn't found the courage to learn the details.

Her breath caught as Max shifted to lie between her legs, covering Etta's body with hers and kissing down her neck. Max's treble clef necklace dangled between them as they kissed, and Etta noticed her gaze flick down to where Etta's base clef rose and fell with her heaving chest. Etta's eyes fluttered closed, her hands shaking, body lifting to meet Max's in any way possible. She didn't want this to end. Never. Never.

And then one of Max's hands was sliding beneath her shirt.

Etta froze. As the hand stopped just below her bra, she couldn't tell if Max was suggesting all-out sex or just stretching the boundaries of their making out. All they'd done so far was kiss. And even that, Etta still felt a little new to sometimes.

The fingers curved around her ribs, gently filling the cracks between her bones. The sensation, the new skin on skin, wasn't altogether unpleasant. In fact, Etta liked it. But it scared her that she liked it. It was too much, too soon.

Continuing the kiss so she didn't ruin anything, Etta reached to pull Max's hand away. Max listened, retracting her hand just as smoothly as she'd put it there. But within a few more minutes of kissing, her hand was back under again, this time going further to tease, just slightly, the edge of Etta's bra.

Etta trembled, her breath catching, but somehow she managed to choke out, "Max."

"Yeah, baby?" the girl murmured against her neck.

Her lips brushed over Etta's favourite spot on her neck, causing anything she was about to say to collapse into a whimper. Suddenly the studio they were in, mirrors on every wall reflecting them a million times over, felt incredibly claustrophobic. The cool floor at her back felt trapping.

"Max, I -"

"It's OK," Max breathed, continuing to kiss her neck where she knew the girl would melt. Her hand was still, for now. "It's just me."

"No more," Etta stuttered. "Please."

"Don't you want to?"

_I do_, she thought. _So much._

Almost every part of her wanted to just go for it. To just give in to her pleasure and be with Max, this girl she liked more than anyone else, in the closest possible way she could.

But the other part of her, the part that was saying no, was too big to ignore.

She wasn't ready for this. She knew it in her belly. It wasn't right.

"Max, stop."

The hand moved down a little bit, but still hovered over her lower stomach, as if not committing to the exit altogether.

_She's not getting it_, Etta realised.

Her torso went rigid, her hands scrambling to get Max's out from under her shirt. "Max, _stop_."

Just as she said that final word, the lights went out.

"Shit," Max muttered. She sat back, pulling her hand away as she did so, and scrambled through her bag to find the lighter she used to burn the soles of her ballet shoes for better grip.

Flick. Flick.

A tiny flame burst from her hand, illuminating the room.

"Are you OK?"

Etta nodded.

"Etta?"

"Yes. I'm…"

But she couldn't complete the sentence. A fist was tightening around her brain.

Hearing her whimper, Max called out again. "Etta? What's wrong?"

The girl wiped a bead of sweat from her temple. "Can I have some of your water?"

"Sure."

Max handed her the bottle. The water was a cool relief.

"Etta?"

"God, just give me a second," Etta snapped, sending her quiet.

Her head was pounding. Another headache. She never used to get headaches like these, but it seemed like she'd gotten them a few times recently. And the lights, the car shorting out…

_No_, she thought to herself. _That's ridiculous. There's no way those things are related._

_Just breathe, Etta. Just breathe._

_Everything's OK. It's just a headache. Everything's fine._

She told herself this over and over until she began to feel safe again. When she was finally calm, the lights began to flicker back on.

Etta glanced up. _Well that was creepy._

"Are you feeling OK?" Max asked.

Etta nodded, handing back the water. "Yeah. Sorry I snapped at you."

Max shook her head. "_I'm_ sorry. I swear, Etta, I didn't mean to get carried away like that. That was such a stupid thing for me to do. I'm so sorry."

"It's OK."

"No, it's not. Nothing the other person doesn't want, that's what we agreed. I wasn't wanting to have sex or anything, I just…I thought you wanted to take things a little further. But I shouldn't have assumed…"

"It's OK. Let's just…keep it slow for now, OK?"

"OK." Max reached out at took her hand. "I'd never want to hurt you, Etta."

"I know."

Wanting to change the subject, Etta held onto Max's hand and leaned her foggy head against her shoulder. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Max's other hand going to stroke Etta's hair as the pain subsided.

Etta felt unsettled by what had just happened between them, even though she knew Max never meant to scare her. Things could have turned out very differently if she had simply refused to stop. But she did. Thank God. Though there was a part of Etta - a larger part than she'd like to admit - that hadn't wanted her to.

She wanted to think about something else. Finally, when Etta felt a little better, she asked, "Can you hang out at all next weekend?"

"I can't, sorry. I have a tonne of assignments and then band practice."

"Speaking of which, I think Ethan knows about us," Etta said.

"What? No way. We've been so discreet."

Etta made a face. "You think he hasn't figured it out? He's our only mutual friend. I haven't been hanging out with the team as much and you've missed band practice a couple of times. I don't think it's slipped past him that we suddenly spend every second day together."

"I guess so," Max agreed, chewing her lip.

"Would it be such a big deal if he knew? He can keep a secret."

"I know, I just…"

"You're not ready."

Max nodded, staring at her feet as she flexed her toes. For a split second, it looked as if she could cry. Etta immediately regretted bringing it up, gently hooking her hand around Max's elbow to bring her back to her. "Hey," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK."

"I just like you so much," Etta continued, trying to make her understand her frustration. "Not telling them is really strange. I'm not used to keeping secrets from my friends."

"What about keeping secrets _for_ your friends? Will you do that for me?"

_I'd do anything for you_, she wanted to say. But the words sounded so desperate in her mind that they felt too stupid to let out. So she just nodded.

"I'm sorry, OK?" Max continued, taking her silence as a cue. "I know it would feel more real if we were telling our friends. And I know Ethan's trustworthy and he's the kind of guy who couldn't care less anyway. I want to tell him too. Just…not now, OK?"

_Not ever_, Etta thought. _Is that what you're saying?_

Etta brought her hands into a prayer-like position in front of her face as she closed her eyes and exhaled. According to her father, it was a pose of deep thought she'd inherited from her mother.

_Stop being such a brat, Etta. She's doing her best. _

_But it's not enough. This isn't enough._

"Etta?"

When she opened her eyes, she found Max hugging herself, her eyes begging Etta for some kind of response. She looked so small.

"Etta…" The girl swallowed, blinking quickly as if to force away tears. "Etta, please say something."

But Etta was close to tears herself.

_This is just going to keep happening_, she thought. _Max will never like you enough to want people to know. _

_She's using you._

Etta kept her hands in front of her face, knowing that if she reached out and touched Max, she'd give in. She could feel the confusion in her body, in her soul – half leaning into Max, half pulling away.

"Is it going to be like this the whole time?" she finally asked.

Max exhaled. "Etta…"

"I want to tell people about us."

"You can't. If we start telling people at school, everyone will hear about it. If it gets back to my parents…"

"Is it really just about that? Or are you just ashamed of me in general?"

"Of course I'm not ashamed of you. I just don't have a family like yours."

"So what happened to you not caring what anyone thinks? You act like you're so fucking tough, Max. You pretend you don't care about anything but you do. You're so scared of what people will think, you won't let me hold your hand in public or even be seen outside with me unless we're on the other side of the fucking river."

"Etta-"

"You're ready to fool around with me, possibly even have sex with me, behind closed doors but as soon as there's people around it's like I'm nothing to you."

Those final words came out as a sob, but even if they were unintelligible, Max understood the hurt behind them. Etta wiped her eyes, feeling her chest tighten each time she tried to swallow back her tears. Every part of her hurt.

"Etta, you know it isn't like that."

Max tried to reach out to her, but Etta jerked away. "Don't," she choked. She stumbled to her feet, hands shaking. "I won't be your fucking experiment, Max."

"You're not a fucking experiment – I wouldn't do that to you."

"Then what am I to you? Some way for you to secretly rebel against your parents until it blows up in your face? Do you get some sort of sick thrill out of having me as your dirty little secret?"

"Stop, Etta! You know it's more than that."

"Well why the hell did you even ask me out if you were going to keep it such a secret?"

"Because I fucking love you, OK?"

Those cried words bounced off every mirror in the room, echoing and hanging in the air until they died into a whisper.

Etta wanted more than anything for that to be true. But she couldn't believe her. Not like this.

So she shook her head, so hard tears flung from her face. "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," Max wept. "I love you. I never meant to fall for you. It would be easier if I didn't, but I did. I liked you the moment I met you, Etta."

Max tried to step a little closer, but Etta backed away, gripping the bar behind her for support. "This isn't how you treat someone you love, Max," she muttered, wiping her face. She felt so _stupid_. "Max, I like you so much. I want to tell everyone I know about you. I want to tell the whole fucking world about how amazing you are and how incredible I feel whenever I'm with you, but you won't do the same for me. I mean, think about it – does a single person in your life know that you're with me? I can understand you not telling your parents but…does your best friend know?"

"You're my best friend."

"I mean it, Max. Does _anyone_ know?"

Max looked away.

"One person. Give me one fucking name, Max."

But again, the girl was all silence.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Etta muttered, gathering her things.

"Etta, please, don't do this."

Etta only stopped at the door to say, "Don't follow me." Then she was gone.

* * *

Etta's shoulders shook with silent sobs the whole bus ride home. She didn't care that people on the bus were giving her weird looks, or that the old lady sitting behind her tried to cheer her up by telling her Jesus loved her. She didn't care about anything. The only thing she could feel was hurt and anger, towards Max but mostly towards herself.

She could still taste Max on her tongue.

She'd let herself believe that what they had was real. But maybe she was only seeing what she wanted to see. Maybe Max had just been using her the entire time. She let it go on for so long. How could she have been so stupid?

Thank God they didn't sleep together in the ballet studio. That would have been a huge mistake.

She furiously wiped away whatever lip gloss was still left on her mouth with her sleeve. She hated the way she looked. Her male friends wanted her too much, and her girlfriend didn't want her enough. She was all alone.

A buzzing jarred her from her thoughts, and she wiped her face before answering her phone. "Hello?"

"Hey baby girl. We're just having a dinner break at the lab and I wanted to check in on you," her mom was saying. "Are you still at the studio with Max?"

"No." Her voice came out thick, and she hoped her mom wouldn't notice – but it was her mom.

"Etta, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Henrietta Elizabeth, tell me."

Etta felt her face crumple, trying to keep herself from crying as she finally found her voice again. "Max and I had a fight. I think - " She choked on her own words, letting out a sob. "I think we might have broken up."

"Oh no. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it?"

Before she could answer, she heard her father in the background asking what was going on. When her mother told him, she heard him take the phone.

"What did she do?" her father asked furiously.

She couldn't help but chuckle sardonically at his anger – at the way he automatically assumed she was not to blame. "It's nothing, Dad," she tried to tell him. "I'm the one who's the idiot."

"Honey, don't talk about yourself like that. Tell us what happened."

"Don't worry, guys, OK? I'm fine. If you guys are working, can I call Ella and see if I can hang out at her place tonight? I just feel like shit right now."

"Sure, sweetheart." Her mother was back on the phone now. "Let us know what she says. If not, we can come and pick you up and take you home."

"No, don't leave work because of me. It's not that big a deal."

"You're upset. That's a big enough deal for us."

Etta felt, even over the phone, like her mother had just wrapped her in a giant hug.

"I'll be OK," she replied. "I'm going to call Ella now. I'll let you know what happens."

"OK, sweetheart. I'll call to check on you later. We love you."

"I love you too."

Etta hung up and called Ella, who said she was absolutely happy to have her hang out for the night. Ella was 24 and doing her masters in social work at Harvard, and she lived in an apartment on campus with her long-term boyfriend Mark. On the walk through campus, Etta had never felt more alone. It seemed like every hand she saw had a warm twin that fit. Couples traded goodbye kisses at the bus stop, got ice cream together at the gelato store by the subway. Everyone was with somebody else, except her.

When she reached the apartment, her cousin was already waiting outside. "Hey babe," she greeted her, pulling her into a hug. "What's wrong? You sounded upset on the phone."

"Nothing… Just Max problems."

"Oh no. You didn't get her pregnant, did you?"

Etta could help but laugh at her cousin's terrible joke, but the laughter just brought on a fresh wave of tears.

"Woah, honey, what happened? I'm sorry, I had no idea it was so serious. What did she do to you? I swear to God, if she hurt my baby cousin she will not be able to run fast enough to get away from me."

She shook her head, wiped her face. "I don't need you to put her head on a spike. Just…maybe we can go for a walk around campus and talk about it? Grab some dinner?"

"Of course, babe," Ella replied, hooking her arm around Etta's elbow so their arms were linked as they walked down the street.

It was a public sign of affection her own girlfriend had never shown her.

Maybe the whole thing was never real after all.

But halfway through dinner, Etta received a text.

"Is it from Max?" Ella asked.

"No. Ethan."

She opened the message.

_Max just told me. I don't care. Please call her, H. She's at my house bawling her eyes out and I'd prefer it if my violinist didn't die of dehydration. E. _

"Wow."

"What?"

"She told him," Etta breathed. "She told Ethan."

"OK, so…that's good, right?"

"Well, that depends on if she's doing it because she wants to or just to make me feel bad and come back."

Ella reached for her younger cousin's hand. "Trust your gut, babe. If it feels wrong, it probably is. Take a few days to think about it."

The younger girl exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "I want to believe her."

"But…?"

Etta snapped the phone shut, put it back in her pocket. "I don't know if I can. At least not right now."

Her cousin nodded in understanding, taking a bite of pasta.

"El…"

"Hmm?"

Etta bit her lip. "How do you know if you're in love with someone?"

Ella chuckled wryly, smiling at the younger girl as she took a sip of wine. "Trust me, babe," she said. "If you have to ask, you're not."

**OK, I'm sorry the chap was sad, but please review! It makes me smile : )**

**Also, that last line was borrowed from One Week. Cool little Joshua Jackson movie. Check it out. **


	11. Habibti

**Chap 11: Habibti**

**First of all, so sorry this took so long! Work and school has been busy lately. Many thanks to those who reviewed. Extra special thanks to Full Dark No Light, who made some awesome fan art for this story! Check it out here: **

** just-a-matter-of-perception . tumblr image/59119058371**

The garish drag of her vibrating phone across the bedside table would have woken her up, but Etta had been unable to sleep all night- partly because of the pain that constricted her chest like a water python, and partly because Ethan's texts had been coming in as regularly as waves these past few hours.

_Etta, please answer me. Max is distraught. She thinks you hate her._

_Are you OK? I want to hear your side. _

_H, I just want to know you're OK. Call me when you get this._

Then finally:

_WOMAN, FUCKING CALL ME OR I'M COMING OVER AND BREAKING DOWN YOUR DOOR _

Sighing, she quickly called him back.

"E, I'm a big girl and I don't need a babysitter. Stop messaging me."

"Relax, Etta. I just want to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She knew he didn't believe her, but he didn't push. "You know I don't give a shit about you and Max being together, right?"

"I know."

"All I care about is that my friends are both alright. That's it, H."

Exhaling and letting her eyes fall closed, she couldn't help but ask him one thing. "Ethan…is Max OK?"

She heard him sigh in response. "She's really not, Etta. She came to my house fucking sobbing about how you guys had a fight. She didn't tell me details - that's between you two. But you should know she's a fucking mess."

"Is she still there?"

"She's on the couch in the other room trying to sleep. Do you want to talk to her?"

"No."

"H," he sighed. "She loves the shit out of you – you know that, right?"

Etta bit her lip, feeling those words tighten her stomach like a fist. "She told me."

"Do you believe her?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

There was a pause. "I'll tell you something, kid," he breathed. "I've known that girl since she was like 10. And I've seen her go through a bunch of people. Most of whom treated her like shit. But I have never fucking seen her hung up on anybody like this. Never, man. If she says she's in love with you, I'd fucking believe it."

"It's just words, Ethan," Etta muttered in frustration. "But actions are something else. She tells me all this shit about how much she cares about me but she won't back it up. Sorry if I'm being a bitch, but it's really starting to get to me."

"Look, H, I'm not gonna tell you what to do here. You're a grown-ass woman, you can do what you want. I'm not getting between two of my friends. It's not my job to sort out your shit or take sides."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I know. All I'm saying is… Look, I know this girl really well, OK? She's made some mistakes but deep-down she's a good person. I think you should talk to her, give her a chance to explain herself. If you decide it's not worth it, you can always walk away."

Etta ran a hand through her hair as she thought it over. So much of her was still hurt and angry at Max, but at the same time, so much of her was desperate to see her again. She didn't know which side of her to trust. Earlier in the night, when her parents had come home from work and she'd come home from dinner with Ella, her parents both wrapped her in giant bear hugs as she cried. Her dad, as expected, was 6 feet of quiet fury, while her mother was all tenderness as she stoked her baby's hair and listened to her. Etta had told them about everything that happened except the making out (too much detail for her parents to know about) and the lights. She just explained that she felt like Max was being too two-sided in their relationship and she couldn't bear it anymore.

"_What do I do, Mom?" she'd tearfully asked her mother._

_Olivia had taken her daughter's face in her hands and wiped her tears away. "Henrietta, you are smart, and creative, and beautiful, and you deserve someone who is going to treat you with respect. If you feel like that's not happening, then you should put some distance between you. But if you think Max is telling the truth and she's really doing the best she can right now, then maybe you need to meet her halfway. I know you can be stubborn like me sometimes, but if deep down you feel like she deserves another chance, give it to her. It isn't an easy thing, sweetheart. Only you can make this choice. But I'm going to tell you something your aunt Astrid once told me. You're an excellent judge of character Etta, even if you don't always believe it yourself. So all you need to do here is trust your gut. When you look into Max's eyes, do you feel like what you have is real?"_

Etta had been thinking about the answer to that all night. And now that Ethan was offering her an opportunity to make amends, she was realising that if Max was being honest, then she was worth fighting for. These past two months had been intense and fast and strange and beautiful, and if there was the tiniest chance of getting that back again, she owed it to Max to try. More importantly, she owed it to _herself_.

"OK," she finally breathed. "Put her on."

She heard Ethan shuffle at the other end and wake Max up. There was a sniffle before Max answered, voice thick. "Hello?"

"Hey," Etta replied.

"Etta, I'm so sorry about what happened. Please, can I talk to you?"

"We are talking."

"I mean in person. Can I come over?"

"It's 2am."

"We're both up. I'm betting you couldn't sleep either."

Damn that girl – she knew her too well.

"I feel like shit, Etta," she continued. "Please. I'm just asking for an opportunity to apologise and talk about how we can make it right. If you still hate me after that, we can end it. It's your call."

"When did I say I hated you?"

"Is that a yes?"

Etta exhaled - her rational brain pulling her in one direction, her heart another. But the tug of war was pointless. Her heart had already won.

"Fine. Don't make me regret it, Max," she finally muttered, and hung up the phone.

* * *

Etta did her best to be silent as she let Max in through the back door and up to her room. If her parents woke up and saw her inviting her girlfriend upstairs, they'd probably kill them both. Her parents had always made it clear that she and Max could spend time together at the house, as long as they didn't go to her room. When they got there, Etta sat on her bed while Max lingered at the door, staring around.

"I can't believe I've never been up here before," she thought aloud.

Etta followed Max's gaze around the room, her eyes roaming past her cluttered bookshelf and over to everything that covered her walls - photos of her friends and family, posters of bands, postcards from trips overseas her Dad had insisted on them taking, a Bruins flag she managed to get one of their defencemen to sign at a game last season, posters of the periodic table and the golden ratio... Max stepped a little closer to one of the walls. A tiny smile graced her face as she looked over a bunch of Etta's sketches that she'd tacked up there – drawings of animals and trees and landscapes and people. Finally, one caught her eye, and she let her fingers hover over it.

"Is this one of us?" she asked.

The sketch was of two girls in winter coats kissing in a Boston cobblestone street, surrounded by lanterns and snowflakes and light. It was one of her favourites, but looking upon it now made her want to cry.

"It's how I imagined us to be," Etta muttered, unable to look at her. "But you'll never kiss me like that."

Max's hands trembled as she brought them to her face for a moment, exhaling before brushing back her hair. She was crying. "Etta, I'm sorry. I tried to tell you from the beginning it would be like this – that we'd have to keep this private. You said you understood."

"That was then. Things are different now and you know that. I don't think either of us expected it to get this far but it did. I really like you, Max. More than I've ever liked anyone. But this two-faced thing we're doing where we spend all our time together holed up in the dark isn't enough anymore. Not for me."

Max nodded, wiping her face. "Do you really mean what you said in the studio? That you think I'm ashamed of you? That you're just some experiment I don't want anyone to know about?"

Hearing them said back to her, Etta immediately regretted saying those things. They sounded so different coming from somebody else's mouth, and she couldn't imagine how much it must have hurt Max to hear them. The tears were hot on her cheeks now. She didn't even remember deciding to let them fall.

"Sometimes I wonder," Etta admitted. "You say you care about me and you kiss me and everything's wonderful, but as soon as we step outside you act like we're just friends. Like everything we did last night or the week before never even happened. In the beginning I thought I could handle that. But now that this thing between us is getting bigger and bigger, it hurts to do that, Max. It hurts too much. And tonight, when we were making out and you tried to take things further, I couldn't help but freak out and feel used. The fact that you're ready to take things up a level in private but not to hold my hand in front of someone or tell a single one of your friends that I exist is not OK."

"I never meant to hurt you Etta," Max cried softly, still trying to keep her voice down. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted it to be this way."

Etta wiped the tears from her own cheeks as she sat on her bed, watching Max hug herself in the middle of the room as she tried to keep herself together. It had always killed her to see Max cry. Remembering her mother's words, she looked into Max's eyes, and she knew – she _knew_ – that this was the girl she had fallen for. She wasn't perfect. But she wasn't a liar.

So she outstretched her hand, taking Max's and pulling her to sit down on her bed with her. "I know," she said. "It isn't your fault. You didn't ask to be in this situation. I'm sorry I forget that sometimes."

Max just shook her head, as if in disbelief at their current predicament, and used her free hand to wipe her face. "I miss you, Etta," she wept. "It hasn't even been a day and I already miss you."

"I miss you too," Etta replied, crying just as much now. How the hell had this happened? How had somebody taken hold of her heart like this, and made it so it hurt to be away from them? She'd always scoffed at the girls at school who talked like it would be the worst thing in the world if their boyfriend dumped them. She never thought she'd end up like them. Etta wasn't quite so dramatic, but the idea of not being with Max did hurt. It hurt her in a way that was unfamiliar and surprising and left her clawing for relief.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course," Max replied.

"Did you mean what you said? About loving me?"

Max had a hint of a sad smile on her face as she continued to weep, squeezing her hand. "Yeah. I did. I know you probably don't believe it. It wasn't the way I wanted to tell you."

"When did you know?"

"Honestly?" Max chuckled a little through her tears. "The moment I said it. The words just flew out of my mouth. But as soon as I said them I realised I had no desire to take them back. It was a shock for me too." She looked down at their joined hands, biting her lip. "I've never been in love before."

"Neither have I," Etta admitted. "I'm not sure I even know what it means. But I do know that I care about you so much. And it's absolutely killing me to fight with you."

"We're not fighting anymore, are we?"

"No," Etta realised. "I guess not."

Then Max said something Etta would never forget.

"Etta, I've made so many mistakes in the past with this sort of thing. But I feel like you're the only thing I've ever done right."

"That's not true, Max," Etta insisted, tearfully shaking her head. "You're -"

"Let me finish," Max said. She took her face in her palms now, tucking hair behind both of Etta's ears. "I don't deserve you, Etta. But I will give you every fucking thing that I can. And I know that isn't much, but it's the best I can do right now. You have to know that, OK?"

"I do," Etta wept, taking the girl's face in her hands as well, pressing their foreheads together. "I do. I'm so sorry, Max."

The two of them talked for hours, sitting on her bed. Max promised to slow down a little with physical intimacy, and had already taken a huge step by telling Ethan about their relationship. Etta promised to be more understanding about Max's circumstances and to not pressure her about going public. She promised to focus more on the ways Max _could_ express affection towards her than the ways in which she couldn't. Both girls promised to be open and honest about everything they needed from the other, and to never walk away from an argument without some sign of affection.

By the time they said all they needed to say, it was almost 4am. Luckily there was no school the next day. It was too late for Max to go home by herself safely, so Etta insisted that she stay over.

Etta had shared her bed with girls before. It had happened many times at sleepovers with friends in elementary school, and every time she went to visit her cousin Ella when she was a kid. But this had felt nothing like that. With all that had happened in the last few hours, it seemed like a miracle they were in the same room, let alone sharing a bed for the first time. Unable to sleep, Etta stared at the creature beside her with nothing but awe, too scared to breathe too loud or cuddle too close for fear of waking her. In sleep, Max was defenceless and still and hers. All hers.

Etta let her gaze drift over the girl's hair, down over her shoulder blades, then used a single finger to trace the path her eyes had taken. She did it breathlessly, fearing the sound would be enough to wake her, if her thudding heart wasn't enough already. She was scared to fall asleep, scared that if she let herself mould her body against the other and close her eyes, she'd wake in the morning, and Max wouldn't be there.

But when she woke, the girl was still beside her, tangled in a mess of sheets. She looked like a little child who had kicked all night, and Etta found it adorable. Etta shifted in bed to sit up against the headboard, trying not to wake Max as she watched her sleep. But even in her slumber Max gravitated towards her warmth, resting her head in Etta's lap. Etta smiled, using a single fingertip to trace around the girl's hairline.

She was so beautiful. So beautiful that Etta still hadn't worked out what was in it for Max. This girl could have anyone she wanted. And yet, she wanted her. Geeky, tomboyish, inexperienced _her_.

Etta still had trouble getting her head around that sometimes.

As she was stroking Max's hair, her bedroom door creaked open.

Oh shit.

Her mom was standing in the doorway, apparently having come to check in on her. Etta panicked, her mouth falling open and closed as she struggled to find an appropriate thing to say. But before she could come up with something, her mom was already backing out the door. "Come and talk to me when you're ready," she whispered – then she was gone.

Blushing with embarrassment, Etta swore under her breath and somehow managed to carefully slide out of bed without waking Max, creeping down the corridor to find her mom.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, knowing her Dad was probably asleep down the hall too. He always slept late on weekends, though her mother was a creature of habit who was up at 6 every day. Needless to say, she mostly took after her dad in this regard.

Surprisingly, she wasn't met with anger. Just concern. "When were you going to tell me Max was here?" her mom asked.

"I'm sorry."

"I thought you two were fighting."

"We were. She just came over last night to talk to me. She was really upset. We were sorting things out and it got late. I didn't want her to walk home by herself, so I let her sleep here."

"In your bed?" Olivia pressed, eyebrows slightly raised.

Etta blushed. "It wasn't like that. We haven't…we haven't done anything yet. Just kiss."

Olivia exhaled, hit once again with the realisation that her baby wasn't a baby anymore. She tucked some hair behind her daughter's ear, amazed and terrified by the young woman she was becoming. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't do with your girlfriend. As long as everything's safe and consensual, I don't care. You're a smart, mature young woman and they're your choices to make. But honey, you should have talked to me and at least let me know that she was staying over. I don't mind her being here, but I need to know about it. That's all I ask. OK?"

Etta nodded. "OK. Am I in trouble?"

"Not today. Right now I'm just glad you two worked things out. Now go on and wake her up. I'll wake your dad and we'll make breakfast."

"How about you go back to bed for a bit," Etta suggested. "Max and I can make breakfast for everyone."

Olivia smiled. "That sounds nice. Thank you."

"Thank _you_ for not sending me to a convent."

"You don't really think we're those kinds of parents do you?" Olivia asked.

"No."

"Good. But that being said, don't tell your father she stayed over. He's still getting used to the idea of his baby girl dating. If he finds out she slept in your bed, he'll have an aneurism. Let me talk to him first before you ask Max to sleep here again."

"Won't he figure it out if she's here this early?"

"Honey, this is your Dad we're talking about. He may have a 190 IQ when it comes to physics, but when it comes to people he can be kind of slow on the uptake of some things. Just tell him she came over this morning to talk to you and pray he believes it."

Etta chuckled. "OK. Go back to bed, mom. We'll have breakfast ready in half an hour."

The two parted ways. When Etta went back to her room, Max was still curled up adorably in her bed. She knelt down on the floor beside her, using a single finger to trace around the girl's hairline as she lay on her stomach, face half-pressed against the sheets. Etta took her time, appreciating the quiet while it lasted. As much as she wanted to be public with Max, the quiet was what was beautiful about their relationship, and Etta found herself wishing she could do this every day. To wake with her nose in her hair each morning and go to sleep with a warm belly pressed against her back each night. She didn't want sex – not yet, anyway. But she did want that.

She must have gotten distracted and touched her too much, because Max soon stirred awake, blinking her eyes open. "Hey," she groaned, stretching her body a little.

"Hey." With a faint smile, Etta continued to stroke her hair.

"Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, just…my mom saw us in bed."

Max's eyes went wide. "Shit! Etta, I'm so sor-"

"It's fine. We're not in trouble. She just wanted to talk to me about it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah," Etta replied, puzzled. "Why? What would your mom do?"

"Probably kill me," Max muttered. She let her body relax against the bed, closing her eyes again. Etta continued to gently stroking her hair, her shoulder, her face. "That feels nice," Max giggled.

"I told my Mom we'd make breakfast. Is that OK?"

"Sure. Is it alright if I borrow something to wear, though? I haven't changed since yesterday."

"Yeah, of course. We're the same size."

"Cool." Max gave her a sleepy smile, the kind that made Etta's skin tingle. "Come here," she whispered.

"I am here."

"Closer."

Biting her lip for a moment, Etta hesitantly brought her face a little closer to Max's. They still hadn't kissed since their fight, and Etta was unsure how to approach physical intimacy again, especially since they'd just shared a bed for the first time. But Max just smiled, leaned over, and kissed Etta on the nose. The child-like gesture warmed Etta's belly, and she allowed herself to melt in it. She blushed, turned her face into the sheets. "Happy now?"

"Yes," Max giggled.

* * *

That innocent kiss flushed a memory through Etta's brain. The last time someone had kissed Etta on the nose, she was 10. She was overseas at the time. Her father had insisted on instilling a love for travel in her, and rather than taking her and her mother to LA or Disneyland or wherever other families went for vacations, he'd use the two or three weeks of time off they managed to scrape together each year to take them to more adventurous places. India. Cambodia. Mexico. _Disneyland is boring_, he'd tried to explain to her on the plane. _Lots of kids go there. Northern Africa will be much more exciting. You'll see. _

And it had been. At first, the culture shock had been overwhelming. She'd never let go of her father's hand in Egypt, intimidated by the crowds, the noise, the animals, the way entire families were stacked on the back of motorbikes. She hated the way men would stare at her mother and follow her for blocks and blocks trying to get her attention until her father spoke sharply in Arabic, wearing a death stare she hadn't seen him use many times in her life. But the country had astounded her. She played hide and seek in ancient temples, giggled as camels licked her face with fat sandpaper tongues, played soccer with the local kids at every possible opportunity. By the time they reached Morocco, she was practically a local. She spoke bits and pieces of Arabic and always knew when it was time for prayereven before the call rang out through the streets.

But despite her attempts to assimilate, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her American accent, blonde hair and pale skin were a wonder to the locals – she may as well have been from another planet. Every boy she met was utterly taken with her. They'd follow her through the streets, sneaking a touch of her skin or her hair. Calls of "Pretty lady, pretty lady!" rang out in every market. The attention made her a mixture of uncomfortable and flattered, and her father was constantly fending them off, his grip tight around her wrist. Even grown men had come to him to ask for his permission to marry her. They'd offer him all their money, their best livestock. Her father would try to laugh it off, telling them that she was worth more than they could afford. But his grip on her wrist would only tighten. _Never leave my side while we're in this country, Henrietta_, he'd tell her sternly. _Not even once_.

She was glad for her father's protection when the men approached her – she found the unfamiliar hunger in their eyes frightening – but when boys smiled at her, there was a fluttering in her belly she'd never felt before. Towards the end of their trip, they were in a souk in Marrakech, passing by snake charmers and fire eaters when they came across an art shop her parents were interested in. The owner had them sit down to negotiate prices, and his son brought them glasses of sweet mint tea on a platter. The boy was about her age. He wore a Manchester United t-shirt and a _kufi_ on his head. She was bored and asked her parents if she could play with him. _OK_, her mother said, _but stay in the shop where we can see you._

The two of them sat in a pile of Berber rugs in the corner and drank tea. They talked about American music, which was the only thing they had in common. He spoke very little English and yet could recite entire verses from rap songs. She laughed when he tried to show her that he could beat box. He asked to touch her hair, and she let him, loving the way he giggled hysterically when he tapped her head, like a mischievous child caught stealing sweets. She liked his laugh, the sweet innocence of his gap-toothed smile, his bright eyes. She liked his exoticness – the way he called her "Miss" and spoke in broken English and over-pronounced the "T" in "Etta" when she told him her name. He gestured to her face and said "Beautiful". She blushed, told him "_Shukran_". Then, childishly, he kissed her on the nose.

The touch was so slight she would have thought she'd imagined it, except that it had made her belly do somersaults. All she wanted was to do the same back to him, but the shock of this feeling had stunned her still, their faces still a breath apart. And then there was a hand on her wrist again. Both children were being pulled to their feet by their fathers. The boy earned himself a sharp smack on the back of the head, and Etta wanted to cry. Their fathers spoke quickly in Arabic, both seeming apologetic, and they quickly left the shop.

"_Daddyyy," she whined, tears in her eyes as her father dragged her through the souk. "Why'd you do that?"_

"_Sweetheart, you can't just go around kissing boys. This isn't America. They have different rules here."_

"_But why? We didn't even kiss. We didn't do anything wrong."_

"_It's complicated, honey. That boy let his fascination with you get the better of him. He tried to kiss a girl – a non-Muslim, non-Moroccan girl, no less – when his father is very religious. And you're the daughter of a customer. It was inappropriate. His father was very embarrassed."_

"_He's in trouble now," Etta wept. "It's my fault."_

_Her father stopped and knelt down to her, wiping her tears. "That's not true. Please don't cry, kiddo. You know I can't stand it when you cry."_

_Etta hurriedly wiped her face with the back of her hand. He was right – big girls didn't cry. She never saw her Mommy cry._

"_Baby girl, there's nothing wrong with liking or kissing boys," her mother explained to her. "But your father's right – this isn't our culture and things are different here. And you're a little young to be charming the opposite sex just yet. What happened wasn't your fault – but just be aware of that next time you meet a nice boy here, OK?"_

_The young girl nodded, accepting the hug her father was giving her. Exhausted from the heat, she let him take her full weight as he lifted her into his arms. "Yallah, habibti," he murmured into her ear, and he began to carry her back to their hotel._

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Max asked her, bringing her back to reality.

Etta smiled, shook her head. "Nothing, _habibti_."

"What's that mean?"

"It's Arabic. My Dad taught it to me. It's like 'my darling', I guess. I think the direct translation is 'beloved one'."

"_Beloved one_," Max repeated, tasting the words on her tongue. "It's nice." She lifted a hand to brush some hair away from Etta's cheek. "God, you're pretty."

"Thanks," Etta mumbled into the sheets, trying to hide her blush.

"Am I embarrassing you?"

Etta nodded against the bed, causing Max to only giggle harder. "Come on. We should go make breakfast before your face turns into a tomato." The two of them got up and Max searched through Etta's wardrobe for a shirt to wear. "God, do you have anything that's not black or grey?" she laughed, rifling through the rack.

"Sorry not all of us are as fashionable as you."

"No, you've got some cute stuff here. We should start swapping clothes, we're the same size anyway," Max replied. She found something and turned away from Etta, pulling her own shirt over her head.

Etta tried not to look. She really did. But as the blush continued to burn in her cheeks, she could see a flash of Max's skin in the corner of her eye, the tumble of her dark hair down her back, the strap of her lacy bra disappearing as she slipped the new top on. Etta didn't own any bras that nice, and suddenly felt self-conscious. Max seemed so grown up to her. Even though the girl was only 16, just a few months older than her, she seemed so much more knowing, more experienced, more confident. She was a local in a world Etta was just discovering.

Maybe this is how the guys in the locker room felt when she changed with them.

"Thanks," Max said, closing the wardrobe door. Smirking at the blush on Etta's cheeks, but not saying anything, she handed the girl her own shirt. "You should keep this. It'd look good on you."

"This is one of your favourites," Etta noted, feeling the worn fabric in her hands. Her _Radiohead_ t-shirt.

"Take it."

Etta smiled shyly at the thought of wearing it to bed each night, and tucked it under her pillow. "Thank you."

The girls went to the kitchen and started cooking breakfast. They still had a little time to themselves before Etta's parents woke up, and Etta found herself imagining the two of them owning an apartment somewhere one day, when high school was over and they went to college together. She knew it was unlikely – Max was going to Julliard and she was hoping to go to Northwestern like her mom, or even Harvard. And they'd only been together a couple of months. It was stupid to be imagining such things. But as they stood side by side, flipping bacon and scrambling eggs over the same stove, the picture was so clear in her mind that Etta could have sworn they were already there.

Breakfast with her parents was largely uneventful, but sweet. Neither of them made a big deal about Max being there. Seeing her girlfriend wear her shirt was strangely intimate, but if her parents noticed it, they didn't say anything. They asked Max about how school was going, her band, the usual things. It was all going so well until the phone started ringing. But for once, it wasn't her mother's.

Max pulled it out of her pocket, her shoulders slumping as she read the caller ID.

"Your mom?" Etta asked.

She nodded, getting up and excusing herself to answer it. Etta only overhead bits of the conversation in the other room, not understanding many words, but she could hear the pain in Max's voice. The embarrassment and frustration and anger.

When she came back into the room, her hands were trembling as she forced her phone back into her jeans. "My mom knows I'm not at Ethan's."

"Didn't he cover for you?" Etta asked.

"He did. His mom didn't." Max ran a hand through her hair. "I'm so sorry, I have to go."

"Do you want us to give you a ride, honey? We're just about to head to work anyway," her mother suggested.

"No, thank you, Mrs Dunham. I think it's best if I just get the subway."

"You sure?" her Dad added.

"Yeah. I'm in enough trouble already."

"Does she know about me?" Etta asked.

"No. Just that I'm not where I said I was. I'll make something up."

"Be careful. I don't want you to get in more trouble than you already are."

"I can handle it," Max insisted, starting to head for the door. "Thank you so much for breakfast. I'm sorry about all this," she told Etta's parents.

Etta cast them an apologetic look as well as she followed her girlfriend to the door. "Hey," she said, hooking an arm around Max's elbow. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Max muttered, yanking her arm away. But Etta stood her ground, waiting silently for Max to open up when she was ready to. It was a skill she'd gotten from her mom. Max stopped at the door, letting her weight slump against it as she shook her head, trying not to cry. "I just… I can't give you that."

"What?"

"That," Max repeated, tilting her head back towards the kitchen. "Mornings at my house. Nice breakfasts with my parents."

"I don't need those things."

"Your mom fucking found us in bed together," she whispered, making sure her parents wouldn't hear, "and all she did was talk to you."

"Well it's not like we were having -"

"That's not the point. God, if we'd been at my house and my mom…" She trailed off, scoffing bitterly as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"What?" Etta pressed. "What would your mom do?"

"Forget it. I'm in enough trouble as it is. I have to go."

Max blinked a few times to clear her eyes. Etta noticed the way the girl couldn't even look her in the eye, how she kept shifting on her feet. It was as if she was rooted to the spot. She seemed…scared.

"So why don't you?" Etta asked.

Max closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't want to go home."

"I know."

"No, Etta, you don't. You don't see how much we fight. You don't get what it's like to live there. You don't understand. Nobody understands, and I -"

"Shhhh…" Etta murmured, taking the girl's face in her hands and pulling her close. At first Max started to pull away, but it wasn't long before she caved into that touch, and Etta pulled her into her arms. She could feel the tremble in Max's skin when she buried her face in her neck, the scratch of her nails against her back as she held on tight.

"I just want to stay here with you," she whispered.

"I know. But you'll only be in more trouble if you're late. Call me when it's over, OK?"

"I won't be allowed to see you."

"That's OK. We'll just talk all night and it'll be like you're not even grounded or whatever."

"I'll try."

As if she was trudging off to war, Maxine untangled herself from Etta's embrace, still unable to look at her as she kissed her cheek in apology and headed out the door. Etta closed it behind her, heading back to her parents, head hung.

"You OK, kiddo?"

Etta slumped in her chair. "She's in trouble. She's in trouble because of me."

"Sweetheart," her mother soother her, reaching over to stroke her hair, "this isn't your fault. It's just an unfair situation. Max shouldn't have to take risks to be with you."

"Maybe I shouldn't be asking her to."

"From what it looks like to me, kiddo," her Dad countered, "you're one of the things in her life that makes her happy. If she's willing to put up with fights with her mom to be with you, that's her decision. You can't make it for her."

Etta bit her lip, toying with the eggs still left on her plate. There was so much food left – delicious food she had spent all morning making with her girlfriend – but she wanted none of it. "I have homework to do," she muttered, rising from her seat.

"Honey, you should eat some more."

Her Dad shook his head, almost in defeat as he saw that Etta had continued to walk up the stairs anyway. "Let her go, Liv."

As if on cue, Olivia's phone rang. At least Broyles had waited until the end of their meal for once. Olivia quickly answered and before hanging up.

Peter looked to her in question. "So?"

"Legal finally pushed through our request to see Loeb. The warden's letting us see him this week."

**Sorry for the wait, but please review! Next chapter: Olivia and Peter interview Loeb, and Etta learns some unexpected things about Max**


	12. SLUT (part 1)

First of all, I'd like to apologise to anyone who was offended by my depictions of Egypt and Morocco in my last chapter. It was absolutely not my intention to be offensive at all, although looking back I realise that my description was a very simplified view of these countries. I did intend them to be simplified to some degree, as it was meant to be a 10 year old's perception of these places, and was heavily based on my childhood experiences there (I have family there so I spend a lot of time visiting them), but I may have taken it too far. So much of my heart belongs to these places and I hate the thought that I have depicted them unfairly, because there's so much beauty in them that was absolutely enchanting to me as a child. I still love going back!

**Chapter 12: SLUT (Part 1) **

**WARNING: this chapter contains a fair amount of slut-shaming language. I'm not actually slut-shaming – I believe people can do whatever they want sexually as long as it's safe, legal and consensual - I'm just pointing out that slut-shaming exists. That being said, the language may be upsetting or triggering for some people. **

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me," Etta repeated.

Jamal raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

"She's sure," Ezra chuckled, watching on with Ethan and the others as they ate their lunch in the school cafeteria.

Jamal looked over the cards on the table between them. "You've already got a five, another five, a three and a six. That makes nineteen. There's like a 90% chance you're gonna bust here."

"Why thank you, Mr Gant, but I am aware of the rules of Blackjack."

"Just making sure, Ma'am," he joked, straightening an imaginary bow tie and putting on his best casino voice. "But us the owner of this fine establishment I should warn you that if you lose this round, my henchmen will be by shortly to collect my money. Don't think they won't break your knees just because you're a girl."

"Thank you for your concern, sir, but might I remind you, you're the one who's been losing all day. Hit me."

"As you wish, Ma'am." Jamal pulled out the next card from the deck and laid it on the table. The smirk immediately fell from his face as the rest of the table erupted in laughter.

"A two?!" he exclaimed. "No one's that lucky."

"It's not luck, J," Marcus laughed. "Etta can count cards. Everyone knows not to gamble with her."

"Well damn, son, I could have used that information 20 minutes ago."

"I did warn you not to play with me," Etta countered, holding out her hand. "My winnings, please, sir."

Jamal sighed, handing over the stack of dollars that had gathered in the middle of the table. Etta grinned as she gathered them, fanning them out and basking in her glory. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen."

"Boy, you just got your ass _robbed_," Ethan laughed hysterically at the look on Jamal's face.

"She won every hand!" he replied, still flabbergasted.

"I'll make it up to you," she reasoned, standing up with her money in hand. "Who wants fries?"

"Me, me!" the guys all called out.

"Alright, I'll be back." Etta took her winnings and went to line up in the cafeteria. It wouldn't be fair to just take all Jamal's money and spend it on herself. Behind her, a couple of girls from her grade were chattering. She wasn't particularly listening, but she heard her name and discovered they were making remarks about how she'd started to dress nicer lately, even wearing lip gloss to school sometimes. She'd never dressed particularly boyishly, preferring feminine but casual clothes, but since she'd started dating Max, she'd been putting a little more effort into the way she looked. Apparently Max hadn't been the only one who'd noticed.

Eventually one of them called out to her. "Hey Rink Rat, when did you finally decide to turn into a girl?"

Etta rolled her eyes and ignored the comment, turning to the lunch lady instead. "Can I get three large fries please?"

The girls continued to talk amongst themselves. "Did you see her sitting next to Ezra? I bet she spent all lunch flirting with him."

"Slut. She's probably been giving the whole team handjobs in the locker room since she was 12."

"You kidding? As if guys like that would want her. She can wear all the nice clothes she wants, but she's still a fugly little nerd. They can do so much better."

"Well they hang out with her every day – she must be giving them _something._"

Etta gritted her teeth as she waited for her fries, doing her best to un-hear every word. Not every girl in her school treated her this way, but enough of them did. It seemed to be something that only really started last year, when guys and girls started dating a lot – and just like that, she didn't have many female friends at the school anymore. She knew girls only talked about her like this because they were jealous - because the guys hung out with her more than they did with them. But that knowledge didn't stop it from hurting.

One of them, Ashley Hunter, got sick of her silent treatment and stormed up to her. "Hey Rink Rat."

"That's not my name," Etta muttered, trying to sound bored with their typical antics.

"_Henrietta_," she replied snidely, deliberately making her name sound as stupid as possible. "What the fuck are you doing with my boyfriend?"

Etta's confusion gave her that Bishop crinkle in her forehead. "Boyfriend?"

"_Ezra_, bitch. What are you doing with him?"

Etta couldn't help but laugh a little at that. Ezra was a lovely guy, but he definitely wasn't the boyfriend type. He was on the swim team as well as the hockey team, and no girl at school could pass him in the hallway and only look at him only once. He used his good looks, social status, and his "charm smile" to lap up as much female attention as he could, fooling around with any girl who'd let him get far enough to cop a feel. He'd recount every experience to the team in the locker room at hockey practice. Etta didn't think she'd ever heard of him with the same girl twice.

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart," she told Ashley, "but fooling around with him after swim practice one time doesn't exactly make you two an item. I hope you haven't had a tattoo of his name done."

Ashley turned to her friend Mara and scoffed, "Bitch thinks she's better than me. Like Ezra would possibly choose a slut like her over me."

"You know, I heard she even fools around with her coach too," Mara added. "Probably the only reason he keeps her on the boys' team."

Even though she'd heard it before, that last comment was too much for Etta. "Fuck you," she snapped back. "I'm on the team because I'm talented and I work hard."

"Oh I'm sure you're very talented," Ashley laughed, turning to her friend and miming the action of giving a blowjob. Etta's cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she clenched her fists and locked her jaw – anything to stop herself from punching this girl out. _Ignore it_, she told herself. _It's not worth it._

Ashley collected the milkshakes she'd ordered for her friends before facing Etta again. "Look, I don't care what you do with your coach or anybody else. But you listen to me, you little slut – stay away from Ezra."

"You don't own him, Ashley. Nobody owns him. And we've been friends for years, so you can call me a slut – you can call me what you want – but I'm not going to stop hanging out with him just because -"

Etta didn't even get to finish her sentence. The girl had shoved into her, deliberately spilling her milkshake all down Etta's front. Immediately flinching, Etta gasped as the freezing, slick substance hit her skin. There was laughter. Everyone's eyes were on her. She could feel the whole cafeteria's stares, like ants nipping at her skin. She froze, not knowing whether or laugh or cry or kill someone. So she decided on the latter.

She lifted her face to the two girls who were laughing at her. "Oops," Ashley said with a shrug, sniggering to her friend.

Etta shoved her. Hard. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Ashley was rattled by Etta's show of violence – there was a shaky surprise in her eyes – but she tried to look tough and shoved her back. "What you gonna do about it, bitch? Nothing. Why don't you just go choke to death on all that cock you've been sucking? The world would be better off without you."

Etta lunged towards the girl, ready to rip her to shreds, but suddenly there were arms around her.

"Get off of me!"

"Etta, stop. Just stop." It was Jamal. He kept his hold on her, probably knowing he was the only thing stopping her from throwing this snotty princess bitch into the deep-fryer. She struggled, but a part of her felt the steadiness of his chest against her back, and wanted to turn around and hide her face in it.

Ashley steadied herself as if trying to make herself taller. "Watch yourself, rat. Go near my guy again and you're gonna get it."

"Try it," Etta spat back, struggling to wrestle out of Jamal's arms. "Touch me again and I'll cut you."

"Etta…" Jamal was saying to her, trying to calm her down.

"I'll fucking cut you."

"Etta," he said again. "Etta, let it go." He pulled her out of there, ignoring the way she bucked and writhed and tried to pry his hands from around her torso. It seemed to happen in a split second, but he'd managed to take her out into the hallway, away from the hundreds of pairs of eyes that had been crawling over her skin in the cafeteria. And just like that, she was breathing again.

Feeling her start to calm in his arms, Jamal loosened his grip around her. But he didn't let her go. His touch felt more like an embrace than a restriction now, and she felt herself automatically curl into it. It was like he was saying, _It's alright, I've got you, let it go_.

But while she had her father's temper and too-quick-judgement sometimes, she was still her mother's daughter. She would not cry.

"I'm OK, J." she insisted, forcing herself away from him and running a hand through her hair. She couldn't look at him.

He shifted on his feet, hinting to the sweater she was wearing. "You should wash that out."

"I don't have anything else to wear."

Jamal began to lift his own hoodie over his head. As he did so, his t-shirt got caught in it, giving Etta a split-second glimpse of his lean stomach, the way a sprinkling of dark hairs started at his belly button and descended lower. She blushed and turned her face away.

"Take this," he said, handing her his hoodie and tugging his t-shirt back down.

She shook her head. "It's November. You'll freeze outside."

"I have a spare in my hockey bag. You can give it back to me tonight at Ethan's. You're coming over to watch the game, right?"

"Yeah, of course." She took the hoodie in her hands. It was still warm. "Thanks," she mumbled, ducking her head as she headed to the girls' bathroom to change. It was empty when she got there – everyone else was still in the cafeteria. She stripped her top half down to her bra and used paper towels to wipe the milky mess from her skin, rinsing out her top in the sink. Slipping Jamal's dry hoodie over her head made her shiver, but not because she was cold. There was something so intimate about wearing an attractive boy's clothes. The hoodie was too big for her, but she loved the way the residue of his warmth brushed against the bare skin of her belly, the way the fabric smelled exactly like him.

Etta internally cursed herself as she continued to rinse and dry out her own top. She couldn't think like this. She was with Max now. She wasn't allowed to be attracted to other people. But that was ridiculous, wasn't it? Dating one person didn't mean you became asexual to the rest of the world. It just meant that despite other attractions you felt, you chose that person above all of them. It didn't make her feelings for Etta any less real. At least, that's what she told herself.

When she was done, she went to her locker to pick up her books for her last classes of the day. But by the time she got there, someone had already scrawled the word "SLUT" in huge black letters across the front. "Perfect," she muttered, slamming her open palm against it. Even though she knew the title didn't apply to her at all – and shouldn't be used against any woman, really - the sentiment behind the message still cut bone-deep.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me," Olivia muttered as she hung up her phone.

Peter glanced at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. "What?"

"That was Etta's vice principal. She's in detention again."

As usual, Peter burst out laughing. "That's my girl. What'd she do this time?"

"She got in a fight and threatened a student. One of those popular girls who's been bullying her all year."

"Way to fight back, kiddo. Nice."

"Can you not turn this into a big joke please? Just once I'd like to see you take this seriously, Peter. You always have to congratulate her when she gets into trouble and I always end up being the tough parent."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Peter conceded, letting one of his hands leave the wheel to rest on her shoulder. "We're lucky it's only detention, but we should probably talk to her guidance counsellor again about this bullying thing. Is she alright?"

"She's fine."

"Liv, you know our daughter's never gotten in trouble at school unless there was a real reason behind it. Remember that time in elementary when she beat up that boy in her class because he was teasing another kid?"

Olivia couldn't help but smile a little at the memory. "Yeah, I remember."

"That's our girl, Liv. White knight." He threw her one of her favourite smiles to calm her before he changed lanes. "And sure, maybe I get a little sentimental when she takes after me by getting into trouble, but the truth is, she doesn't take after me at all. I was way worse than her, and for no reason except that I was angry. Everything Etta does, she does to stick up for herself and for other people. Works hard at school, tries to be the best that she can be, and doesn't take shit from anybody. She got that from you."

Olivia ignored his attempts to flatter her. "Yeah well, I wish she'd express her desire to resemble me some other way. I don't want her to get hurt."

"She can look after herself."

"I know," Olivia replied. "Just kind of reminds me how awful high school was."

"Pretty bad for you, huh?"

"I was the awkward, orphaned foster kid. What do you think?"

Peter frowned. "I can't imagine. Were you ever bullied like Etta?"

"I was just excluded a lot by the girls. The guys were worse. Every time I moved to a new school I felt like a piece of meat. But I couldn't afford to lash out about it all. I had too much to lose. So I threw all my focus into school, worked as many part time jobs as I could manage, just so I could afford to become Rachel's guardian the second I turned 18. In the old timeline, anyway."

Peter shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hands around the steering wheel. But as usual, it didn't take long for his anger to give way to admiration. "You know, the more I learn about you and your life, the more I think you're amazing. You do know that, don't you?"

Olivia bit her lip through her smile, feeling something in her chest unfurl its wings. She shyly leaned over and kissed his shoulder. "You amaze me too. I know you're youth wasn't easy either. I just…" She sighed, propping her elbow against the car door and resting her head in her palm. "I just want her to have an easier life than we did. That's it. Sometimes I feel like we're not present enough – that we'll never be present enough."

"Sweetheart," Peter soothed her. "She has a positive group of friends, and cousins who are like siblings to her. She has two parents who are trying their best. That girl has family everywhere she looks. That's something you and I never had at her age. She's gonna be fine."

"Yeah," Olivia exhaled. "I know."

"Besides, we can't worry about this right now. We have to focus on Loeb."

"He won't give us anything," Olivia suspected, "But he's pretty much our last shot at getting any lead on who's taken Theo."

Peter's silence said everything for him.

"Peter…" Olivia started to say, "Peter, I know that you…"

"What, Olivia?" he muttered. "What do you know?"

She swallowed. "I know you think he's already dead."

"Don't you?"

"It's been two months," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And we've got nothing. I've never been on a missing persons case for this long and found the vic alive. But his mother calls me every day, begging for news. And I cannot go back to that house and say the case is cold unless I can look her in the eye and honestly say that we did everything we could."

Peter nodded and ran a hand down his face. "I know you're losing faith as well, Livia. But promise me you won't give up on this – not until we see that boy's body with our own eyes. OK?"

When she nodded back, she looked him in the eye. "Promise."

* * *

"Pssst. Hey, Rat."

Etta refused to answer, continuing to write the essay that had been assigned to her by the teacher running the detention class. When she didn't respond, a ball of paper sailed through the air and hit the side of her head. She snapped her head back. "Jesus, what?" she whispered.

"Heard about what someone did to your locker," Ashley smirked. "What a shame. I hope they find whoever did it."

Etta rolled her eyes. "Eat me."

Beside Ashley, Mara snorted a laugh. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, dyke?"

"Let me get this straight," Etta chuckled wryly, "At lunch you called me a slut. Now you're calling me a dyke. Last week I was a frigid virgin who's never gonna get a boyfriend. Maybe you guys should pick one insult and stick to it."

"Or maybe you should just kill yourself already and save us the trouble. We'd all be better off for it."

The words knocked the air from Etta's lungs like a kick in the chest, and yet, she couldn't even release the breath. As she turned her face away, she found herself literally speechless. Who…who _said_ stuff like that? Behind her, she could hear the girls snigger like they'd won.

"What if she does?"

All the students glanced up to see the detention teacher, Miss Murray, walking towards them. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats, knowing she'd overhead everything.

"Well, Ashley?" she repeated. "What if Etta does go home tonight, thinks about everything you've done today, and kills herself? Leaves her friends at school in despair, leaves her mom and dad without their child. What then?"

The girl shrugged and chewed her gum, acting like she didn't care.

Miss Murray shook her head in disappointment. "What you kids don't understand is that your words have power. You're not invincible creatures, and neither are your peers. Kids die. Sometimes they choose to die. And sometimes your words can be the thing that pushes them over the edge, or pulls them back from it. So if you're going to go around this school saying things like that, you better be prepared to own whatever happens next." She turned to face Etta, the mix of concern and anger clear on her face. "Etta, you can go home. You're clearly not the one who needs to be here."

Etta didn't need to be told twice. She quickly gathered her things, hearing the girls groan behind her.

"Thanks, Miss Murray."

The teacher put a hand on her shoulder before she could walk out the door. "If these girls bother you again," she told her, "I want you to tell me. Alright?"

"It's OK, Miss, I can handle it."

"I know. But you shouldn't have to."

Etta nodded in thanks. She did always like Miss Murray. She was a young teacher - still fairly naïve - but she truly believed she could help her students and never stopped trying. After the day she'd had, it was a relief to have someone at the school treat her like a human being.

But when she left and got on the bus to Ethan's house, the only person she wanted to talk to about what happened was Max. She tried calling her number twice, three times. But nothing. She'd been completely unreachable since she lied to her mom about being at her house. Not even a text. Nothing in days.

Etta slumped back against the bus bench, her stomach in knots. She just hoped she hadn't gotten Max into serious trouble.

**Please leave a review! I always appreciate your input. **

**Also, it was Bisexual Pride Day last week – yay! As a proud but often misunderstood bi girl, I just want to give all my bi readers (and readers who are LGBTI-friendly) a nice big virtual high-five. And a reminder, anyone who has questions about these things can PM me anytime : )**

**Sorry for splitting this chapter, it got pretty huge! More on Max and Loeb in the next half. Stay classy, Fringe Fandom.**


	13. SLUT (part 2)

**Chapter 13: SLUT (part 2)**

**Trigger warning: again, more slut-shaming language in this chap. May be upsetting to some.**

After she was released from detention, Etta went straight to Ethan's, since it was his turn for the hockey team's weekly hangout night. The second she walked in the door, the guys all cheered and congratulated her on being a badass, laughing as they re-enacted a very exaggerated version of the fight in which Ashley was thrown into the deep-fryer and all her precious hair was burnt down to nothing. Ezra in particular came up to give her a big bear hug. "I'm so sorry, H. I never should have fooled around with Ash. She's such a bitch."

"It's not your fault, Ez."

It was Captain Mike who approached her next, opening his arms to her like a big brother. "Come here, kid."

She let him embrace her in a hug, but before she knew it, he'd picked her up and flipped her so he was holding her upside down.

"Mike!" she squealed through her laughter. "What are you doing?"

"Turning your frown upside down."

"Stop it, put me down!"

Laughing, he flipped her back the right way up and set her back down on her feet. "It worked. You're smiling again."

It was true. She could help but laugh along, but she punched him in the arm for doing it anyway.

Ethan patted her shoulder. "You want a beer, H?"

"Jeez, Ethan, can't you buy any girly drinks for once?"

"Sorry, my brothers only buy me beer."

"Go on, Seven," the guys coaxed.

She sighed. She didn't particularly like the taste of beer, but she didn't hate it either. And she knew the guys were just having one or two while they watched the game. It wasn't like a full-blown party or anything. Etta was glad about that. She'd never been drunk before. "Fine."

A couple of the guys cheered, glad that they'd finally convinced her to drink with them, which she didn't usually do. Surprisingly, it was Jamal who handed her the beer. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he said as he held it out to her.

She took it anyway, touched by his concern. "It's OK. Thanks again for earlier."

"Anytime."

She gestured to the hoodie she was wearing. "I should probably give this back to you, huh?"

"Give it to me later. Wait till you get a chance to wash out your sweater properly." He shifted on his feet a little, scratching his head as he added "It looks better on you anyway."

"Get a room, you guys!" someone laughed from across the room, causing them both to blush. They sat down on the couches and joined the others in playing video games while they waited for the hockey to come on tv.

Colin was playing against Etta and a couple of the other guys when he called, "Hey Ethan."

"Yeah?"

"That girl in your band – the violinist – she single?"

Etta almost dropped her controller at the mention of Max, but forced herself to focus on shooting zombies so she didn't accidentally out her girlfriend. As much as she wanted to be open with her friends, she knew Max wasn't ready. She bit her lip, waiting for Ethan's response, hoping he wouldn't say anything too revealing.

Ethan deliberately stopped himself from glancing at Etta before answering. He knew Etta and Max wanted him to keep things private for now. If she was ever going to tell the guys, it had to be her choice. So instead he smirked and replied, "Doesn't matter. She can do better than you."

But Colin was persistent. "Nah, seriously, is she?"

"She's not really looking for anybody right now."

"Well, if she changes her mind, can you put in a good word for me?"

"And what makes you think she'd be interested? You've come to one gig, man, that doesn't exactly make you two tight."

Colin smirked, working his buttons and launching a grenade at the zombies on-screen. "Are we talking about the same girl, E? She'd let anyone fuck her. Not like she's gonna make me work for it."

"Fuck you, you don't know shit about her," Ethan snapped.

"Who're we talking about?" Ezra asked, quickly glancing away from the screen after blowing up a zombie's head.

"Maxine Kelly. She's in that prestigious-as-fuck performing arts program at St Anthony's," Colin answered.

"Super hot. Black hair, blue eyes. Ballerina," Marcus elaborated.

"Flexible," Colin chuckled, and no one missed the innuendo in his tone.

"Wait, I've heard about her," said Ethan. "That girl's like the blow-job queen of Back Bay."

Colin laughed. "Right. Typical tragic rich girl who acts like a two-dollar whore."

"Hey, that's my fucking friend you're talking about," Ethan argued.

"Doesn't make it any less true."

"She went through a bad time last year and did some stupid stuff. Who hasn't? She's a completely different person now. Let it go."

"Top left!" someone shouted, alerting the gamers to the zombie in the corner of the screen. In a flurry of bullets, the guys cheered as they destroyed it. But Etta was practically squirming in her seat. On the one hand, she wanted to kill the guys for talking about her girlfriend like that. But on the other, it hurt and surprised her, just how much she didn't know about the girl she'd been dating these past few months.

Colin leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer, handing his controller to somebody else for a turn. "Whatever, she's hot. I'd fuck her."

"You kidding?" Marcus scoffed. "That slut's been everywhere. I wouldn't fuck her with _your_ dick, let alone mine."

That was too much for Etta. She slammed down her controller on the couch, now visibly upset. "She's actually really nice. And smart, and gutsy, and talented. If you guys actually spent some time talking to her and not about her, you'd fucking know that." With that, she stood up and stormed off towards the kitchen.

"Awww, what's the matter, H? You got your period or something?" Colin called after her.

"Dude, shut up," Jamal snapped. "You're such an asshole, sometimes, you know that?"

"Sorry I offended your little girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," he muttered. To prove his point, Jamal restrained himself from going after Etta. He didn't want to look whipped in front of the guys. So he picked up Etta's controller and resumed the game. "Two zombies, bottom right."

Shaking his head, Ethan drained the last of his beer and set it down on the table. If anyone was going after Etta, apparently it was going to be him. He found her leaning against the fridge, resting her head on the cool plastic.

"You alright?"

"Yeah,"she muttered. "The guys can just be jerks sometimes. I don't get how they can defend me when someone calls me a slut, and then do it to my friend five hours later."

"Well, I apologise for my gender. Teenage guys are like the kings of double standards. Sometimes I wonder why you even hang out with us."

"Yeah, me too," Etta quipped with a teasing smile.

"Oh really? Is that right?"

They laughed for a moment, but when it died down, Etta bowed her head, going over the guys' conversation in her mind.

"Sorry you had to hear all that about Max."

She exhaled. "She'd already told me that she used to fool around with people. I guess I didn't realise it was that bad."

"Look, those guys are full of shit. They always exaggerate these stories. Half the guys in Boston who say they got with Max never did."

"And the other half?"

Ethan sighed, tonguing his lip ring – a disgusting habit in Etta's opinion – as he came to stand at the counter next to her. "Look, I can't say none of it is true. But you really should ask Max about all this."

"I know. I can't judge her for what she's done in the past, but… It bothers me. I can't help it." She smoothed over her hair. "You wanna hear something stupid?"

"Always."

"I'd never even kissed anyone before Max. Like, ever. And I guess in my head I always imagined that when I did start dating, it would be with someone who was like me, not…"

"The school slut?"

Etta narrowed her eyes. "I didn't say that. I'd never call her something like that."

"I know."

"And just… I thought…"

"What?"

Etta bit her lip. "I thought she liked girls," she murmured, dropping her voice extra low. "What if I'm just an experiment to her?"

Ethan had to chuckle a little at that. "Trust me, you're the most honest thing that girl's done for herself in a long time. But like I said, you need to talk to her."

"I would, if she answered her fucking phone," Etta muttered. "She's been AWOL since she got in trouble."

"Yeah, that happens sometimes. I think her mom takes her phone as punishment when they fight or something."

"Bitch."

"You don't know the half of it. It's like World War Three in that house." He pushed past her to get himself another beer from the fridge. "Want one?"

She shook her head. "Do you know why her and her mom fight so much?"

Ethan shrugged. "Usual shit, as far as I know. Dad's always away for work, Mom hates him for it. Parents are so pissed over their failed marriage that they take it out on the kids, yada yada. Now that Max's brother's moved out, she's got no real support at home. Nobody who gives her the time of day unless they want to tell her how much of a failure she is. If that doesn't make a girl go on a year-long bender and blow a bunch of guys at parties, I don't know what does," he muttered, taking a swig of his beer. "But I swear, Etta, it's over. Girl's got backbone now. And she loves you. That's all you need to know."

Etta felt every word sink to the bottom of her stomach like flecks of lead, but forced herself to nod. "It's just that this all feels unreal to me. The Max I know now seems so different to the one everyone tells me about. I just don't know what to make of this."

"Listen Etta – she's a good person. And she's been through enough as it is, so I swear to God, if you hurt her –"

"I won't."

"- if you leave her over what you heard tonight or make her feel bad about herself, I will never forgive you."

"What are you gonna do, put me inside your bass drum so you can beat me to Metallica?"

"Just take care of her. OK?"

Etta softened, touched by how much he wanted to protect his friend, even if that meant protecting her from another friend. "Of course I will."

* * *

The introduction by the warden at Wallens Ridge State Prison reminded Olivia distinctly of her experience interviewing David Robert Jones in Germany. She and her husband would only be allowed to speak to Loeb for 20 minutes – the reason being that he possessed top secret government information at the time of his imprisonment, and even after 20 years, information was information. The halls had that same nowhere feel to them, the same metallic echo of clanging doors and buzzers.

"We haven't got long," Peter murmured to his wife as they approached the interrogation room. "We can't let him play games with us."

She nodded, taking a breath to steady herself before stepping inside, her husband right behind her. Loeb looked exactly as she expected him to, really. The same, just older. The last time she'd seen him, she'd been taunting him, threatening to have him moved to the roughest prison in Massachusetts if he didn't give her the information she needed. But he hadn't broken then, and she wasn't expecting him to break now.

He smirked. "Hey Olivia. It's been a while."

"It has," she replied curtly as she and Peter sat down at the table. "But it's Agent Dunham."

Loeb's laugh rang out in the room as he turned to Peter. "Always was no nonsense with this one. Who are you?"

"Agent Bishop. Her partner."

"You're the husband, right? I heard about you two getting hitched. Things must have changed down at the Bureau, because when I was working there they didn't allow those kinds of relationships between partners -"

"Believe it or not, Mr Loeb, we're not here to discuss my relationship status," Olivia cut him off, without missing a beat. It wasn't particularly surprising that he still had friends outside the prison who could have told him about their marriage, and she did her best to ignore the crawling feeling in her skin. She pulled a picture of Theo Costas out of her file, sliding it to Loeb's side of the desk. "Recognise him?"

The man's chains clinked as he shrugged. "How could I? I've been in here since before he was born. Cute kid, though." He glanced up at Olivia. "You've got a kid too now, don't you? _Henrietta_. Kind of an old-fashioned name, don't you think?"

Olivia felt her stomach clench at the mention of her child. She knew Loeb would have contacts – every criminal did. She just didn't think her daughter's name would be the kind of information he was seeking out. She felt Peter stiffen beside her, but pushed on, ignoring the question. "This boy's name is Theo Costas. He was abducted from his home using the flashing lights technique a member of your crew, Joanne Ostler, used to kidnap Ben Stockton back in 2008."

"And you think I might be involved. Well, you're grasping at straws, sweetheart. In case you haven't noticed, it's been 20 years since that case, and I've been here the whole time. We weren't the ones who invented that tech and we sure won't be the last ones to use it. I don't know anything about your missing kid. I can give you some advice though." He leaned in close, smirking, eyes dark. "You should be careful working cases like this – now that you've got a family and all. You never know who might be involved. Your girl's gotta be fifteen now, right? I bet she's just beautiful. Little blonde thing like that – probably got all the boys chasing after her. You better keep her safe, Agent Dunham. You've spent your whole life catching violent thugs and criminals - I don't need to tell you what they'd do if they got their hands on a young girl like that. Hell, half the animals you've put in prison haven't seen a girl in the flesh since Obama was president. It'd be a shame for anything to happen to her."

It took all of Peter's restraint not to leap over the table and knock that son of a bitch into the ground. "You know what else would be a shame?" he growled, reaching over to grab the edge of Loeb's chair, pushing hard enough to tilt it slightly. He leaned close. "If a guy accidentally fell out of his chair, like the one you're sitting on, and broke his neck."

Loeb chuckled , darting his eyes to Olivia. "Wow, you sure married a charmer. He ever act like this with you? With your girl?"

"Peter," Olivia murmured, choosing to ignore Loeb and instead to appeal to her husband to calm down instead. They wouldn't achieve anything if all they got out of this interview was a brutality charge.

Jaw locked, Peter exhaled through his nose as he sat back down, never taking his eyes off Loeb. "We're not here about my daughter," he growled. "And if you so much as breathe her name again, I'll -"

"What? What are you gonna do?" Loeb taunted. "Your bitch wife already locked me up for life, had me transferred to the roughest prison in the state. If I can survive 20 years in this hell hole, I can survive anything. Nothing you do to me is going to bring back that missing boy. I'm not involved. Whatever this is you've got yourselves caught up in, is bigger than me. I'm just warning you to watch your backs."

Olivia shook her head sharply. "That's not good enough. This boy has been missing for over two months. If we're ever going to find him alive, I'm gonna need a little more from you than -"

"Dunham, you and I have both worked in this field long enough to know that kid's already dead," Loeb cut her off, his tone turning patronising. "But it's real sweet you think you still have a chance. You always were naïve like that. _Weak_."

That word cut her down to the bone. But there was nothing else she could do but continue her line of questioning. The two of them grilled Loeb for every second of the 20 minutes they had with him, but in vain. He played dumb the whole time, refusing to give an inch on Theo's case. When the guards dragged Loeb back to his cell, Peter and Olivia were immediately on their feet.

"He was just throwing his weight around," Olivia told her husband, but she wasn't sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself. "I put him in prison, so he tried to scare me and waste time in the interview so we couldn't get anywhere on the case. That's all that was about. He can't do anything to Etta."

"You really want to take that risk?"

"Of course not." She pulled out her phone and started to dial. "I'm going to call for some agents to take her to Nina's."

Peter nodded, immediately grabbing his own phone to let his daughter know.

She answered on the second ring. "Hey Dad. What's up?"

"Where are you?"

"Ethan's. I told you, it's pizza night. You guys said it was OK."

"Stay there. Some agents are coming to get you."

"What? Why?"

"Etta, I don't have time to argue with you. Just do as I say."

"Dad," she murmured, her tone going from annoyed to almost shameful. "Is this because I got in trouble today? You're grounding me or something?"

He sighed, realising he'd let his own fear allow him to intimidate his daughter. "This isn't about that," he told her. "But your mother and I will be talking to you about it when we get back."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to say that stuff to her, I was just angry and humiliated and it flew out of my mouth, I just… You know I'd never actually hurt anybody, right?"

"Yeah, kiddo, I know."

"They trashed my locker, Dad. Today in detention she told me to kill myself. This has been going on all year. I just wanted it to stop."

"I know. We'll figure it out, I promise." Exhaling, Peter ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, sweetheart."

"Dad, is something wrong? You sound scared."

"Everything's fine, kiddo," he lied, trying to keep his voice even. "I'm just a little stressed out. Mom and I are dealing with something at work right now and we might not make it home until late, so we've called for someone to take you to sleep at Aunt Nina's house."

"I'm fifteen, not five. I can stay at home by myself."

"Well, sorry, but it's not happening tonight."

"Dad…you guys are OK, right? Like, you're not diffusing a bomb or something right now, are you?"

"I think you watch too much TV, kiddo. Your mom's just putting herself through a guilt trip about coming home late again. You know she doesn't like you staying at home by yourself."

He heard Etta sigh on the other end. "Fine. Whatever. I'll see you when you get home, OK?"

"OK. I love you, kiddo."

"Love you too, Dad."

Peter hung up, praying his daughter bought his act. Even though he was sure Loeb was just showing his teeth, he felt something in his chest lift, knowing his daughter was alive and safe. He could start breathing again, even if it was just for now.

* * *

"You guys might want to hide the beer," Etta told her friends as she hung up her phone.

"Why?"

"Coz a couple of FBI agents are about to come pick me up."

Colin laughed. "Yeah sure. Little Etta Bishop's got herself in trouble with the FBI. Spends the afternoon in detention and thinks she's a fucking badass."

"They work with my parents, dipshit. They're just giving me a ride to my aunt's house."

"Do you always get rides with FBI guys?" Ezra asked with a smirk.

"Not often. Only when my parents get caught up in something super serious. They work a lot and can't always come home at night, so I've had agents drive me to people's houses and stuff my whole life. No big deal."

She knew some of the guys still didn't quite believe her, but she didn't care. They continued to watch the after-game commentary on tv and debate endlessly about the penalty in the second period until there was a knock at the door.

Ethan went to answer it and immediately laughed, calling out to the others. "No shit, guys, she wasn't kidding! The FBI's here!"

The guys all leapt up and ran to the door, leaving Etta to roll her eyes as she dragged herself over. "Way to be subtle, Ethan."

By the time she got there, all her friends were crowded around the agents – two tall, bulky men in suits who looked like they'd fallen straight out of a Hollywood action movie – harassing them with questions and shoving past each other to see their badges.

"Wow, that's so cool!"

"Let me see!"

"Hey, can we get a picture with you guys? This is so going on Facebook."

Etta fought the urge to facepalm. "God, this is so embarrassing," she muttered under her breath. She forced a tight smile to both the agents as they resisted her friends, recognising them as people who'd picked her up in the past. "Hey Greggs, hey Lewis."

"Hey, Dunham Junior. You ready to go?"

"Yep. See you later, guys."

Her friends groaned at her (and her exciting FBI friends) leaving so soon, but all gave her tight hugs before she left. The agents drove her way across the city to Nina's house in Beacon Hill, which was probably tied with Back Bay as the most expensive suburb in Boston. Sometimes it was hard to wrap her head around the fact that not only did she have FBI agents for parents, her aunt was the CEO of a multi-national conglomerate. To her, Nina wasn't a big, scary CEO. She was just family - probably the closest thing to a grandmother she would ever know.

The agents did their best to act like it was a regular pick-up – they'd even gotten her McDonald's for the car like they used to when she was a kid – but Etta couldn't shake the feeling that something was up. They escorted her directly to Nina's living room, where the older woman immediately hung up whatever important business call she was on to wrap Etta up in her arms.

"Etta, sweetheart, it's so good to see you!"

"Hi Aunt Nina," she spoke into the woman's coat, where her face was crushed. She smelled like coffee and peppermint, just as she always did.

Nina released her and looked to the two men. "That will be all, agents."

When they dutifully left, Etta set her school bag down and bit her lip a little. "Aunt Nina, are my Mom and Dad OK?"

"Of course sweetheart," the old woman assured her. "Things just got a little intense at work today and they felt better knowing you would be looked after until they got home later. You know how your mother beats herself up over you being alone at night, especially when she's stressed."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, how about something to eat, dear? What can I make you?"

"It's OK, I already ate."

"Some tea, then? Come on, I want to hear all about your week."

Of course, Etta didn't tell Nina the truth about her week. She politely answered questions about her school and her friends and her relationship with Max (which Nina was fine with – actually very enthusiastic about), but didn't tell her how she'd been bullied at school that afternoon, or that she hadn't been able to reach her girlfriend in days. She didn't want her aunt to worry.

But half way through their conversation about Max, Etta got an idea. "Aunt Nina, is it OK if I use your library for a little while? I have a lot of homework to do."

"Of course, sweetheart, go ahead. Take these with you," she replied, handing her a bowl of sweets.

Etta grinned. "No wonder Mom says you spoil me."

"Well, I won't tell if you won't."

"Thanks." Etta kissed her aunt on the cheek and took her bag to the neighbouring room of the house, which really did resemble a miniature library. Every wall was lined with shelves so tall you had to use a ladder to reach the higher books. They were even categorised according to the Dewey decimal system. There was everything from children's literature she had read as a kid when Nina babysat her, to advanced scientific textbooks that used to belong to her grandfather. The latter section was where she went first.

Of course, she wasn't there to do school work. She scanned the titles of Walter's books until one caught her eye: _An Overview of Theoretical Telekinetic Ability in Humans_. As she settled down in the big armchair in the corner and opened the cover, she felt stupid. Of course telekinesis was just a theory, but it had never really been proven. To think anything else would be foolish. She'd seen, what, two minor blackouts in the last few months? A couple of bad headaches, and she was letting her imagination run away with her. Clearly she'd read too many comic books as a kid, and was far too old now to think things like that were possible.

But her father had raised her believing that anything was possible with the power of science, even if it wasn't possible at this point in history. The real trouble, he'd told her, was deciding how much scientific progress was ethical. Maybe ideas like this weren't that far-fetched after all.

The book was fascinating. It covered the history of telekinetic theories across several different cultures and explained where scientists sat on the idea today. Some believed it was a natural ability that had phased out of the human race during evolution. Others believed it was a movement of the future that could only be achieved when the appropriate tech was designed to amplify the dormant powers of the brain. Some said the phenomenon was merely a myth. Still, it only left Etta with more questions. It certainly didn't have anything to do with headaches.

Even so – and she felt like a total idiot for even thinking this – she figured she'd give it a try. Setting the book down, she turned her attention to the lamp beside her and focused on it with all her might.

_Turn off_, she thought to herself. _Turn off. Turn off. Turn off._

But nothing. Of course.

No headaches, no flickers.

Just…nothing.

Etta scoffed at herself, almost not believing that even a tiny part of her thought telekinesis could be more than just fantasy. That was just stupid. Childish. It reminded her of her 11th birthday – how, after spending her childhood obsessed with the Harry Potter books and knowing perfectly well that they weren't real, part of her had still hoped that she would receive a letter inviting her to study at Hogwarts.

It was far more likely, in all logical sense, that the she was simply getting bad headaches for some other reason – school stress, maybe – and these were exacerbated by extreme changes in light, such as blackouts. That was the only way an intelligent, rational person could think. No more of this comic book bullshit. She was too old for that.

Etta felt a tug in her chest. She was 15 now. She'd never be able to get away with having a wild imagination anymore. She'd never be a kid again. That was just…sad.

Sighing, she rose from the chair. "So much for that theory," she muttered, and sat the book back on its shelf, reaching for something from her grandfather's crime fiction selection instead, remembering the way her family used to tell her elaborate detective stories before bed each night. At least these made her feel like a part of her, no matter how slight or diminishing, was still small.

**Please review, everyone!**

**Next chap: Etta confronts Max about the things she's heard, and there's a major development in the kidnapping case. Stay tuned! I'm super busy but I'll try to write when I can : )**


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